Political Weddings are Never Wise
by Michika
Summary: Something B/V related rattling around in my head in which a political wedding is struck between Bulma and King Vegeta to prevent Chikyuu from being devoured in the developing war encroaching on its galaxy.
1. Prologue

MmeMichika

January 30, 2008

Prologue

A wedding for political reasons is nothing more then an empty ceremony, a procession without meaning for the participants, a show for the masses. I was going to be participating in sham marriage, concocted on the basis of solidifying a trade agreement, to be truthful; it felt like bad medieval throwback. After much though I had resigned myself to think of the event as another social even I had grown up attending. After further introspection I had decided to stop putting the traditional importance and fears of marriage on the event, concluding that it was truly not a marriage, but a political move. Over weeks of preparations I taught myself to start believing it was an event to be attended as any other, and all done on an extended trip to an exotic place.

This "wedding" had been designed for the purpose of solidifying trade agreements and to improve the view of our trade partners held of us. This event was more for them then for us. Our trade agreement had been victim of a rocky start, each side had something the other wanted; yet both sides had been unable to come to a mutually satisfying agreement. We want protection, but not domination, and in exchange we are willing to exchange goods, services, and select technologies.

Accepting trade without our submission and domination was a foreign and unwelcome idea initially. After the threat of mutually assured destruction was brought to the bargaining table, other methods were discussed. Eventually the current arrangement had been settled upon. Our trading partner was an oligarchy, barely disguised as a monarchy. The caste system made up the basis of their society, and divided the population into ranks. Rank was decided by birth, power, and ability, and often determined a birth, but rarely one could rise in rank later in life. Their monarch was a man, still in the prime of his years. Behind his throne a council, the oligarchy, influenced decision, and wielded the bulk of the empire's powers.

We are a collection of countries; some ruled by democracy, others ruled differently. My organization and I however are not part of the government. We are members, if not the leader, of our technology industry. We are at the forefront of the development of new technology; we are the backbone, and its driving force. In short we are an unintended monopoly, perfectly positioned to barter and trade. After all there must be a reason for which our governments, and people have turned to us. We are an empire, albeit small, in our own right. My father owns the company, however he no longer bothers with the day-to-day upkeep. His desire is routed in the creation and development of inventions, content to pass off the small details to myself, his own child.

I manage details; I move my father's creations from prototype to consumer product. I also do my fair share of the design and creation of our products, however I do it on a smaller and more personal scale. I develop technologies as they apply to me; I leave the philanthropic creations to my father, choosing only to assist at this time. It is not that I do not desire to help others it is that I do not have the time to fully dedicate myself as my father has. Capsule Corporation has aided in defeating third-world conditions, relieved poverty, and brought environmental friendly manufacturing to the forefront of our practices. We are a trend-starter, a leader, a socially conscious and environmentally friendly company, in short we are what many strive to be, but never accomplish.

We developed and commercialized space travel, and all its accessories approximately 5 years ago. From the moment of launch our latest venture was a success. We moved slowly through our own star system, mapping and exploring in the name of science and discovery. Quickly though we reached further into space, encountering species both friendly and foe. A few short years into our initial space forays we began to hear receive and compile information on a grand scale about the political structures in place in the universe. So far removed was Chikyuu's galaxy that it was never thought, or considered that the reaches of the largest empires would make their way here so quickly. We developed trade, remaining selective in our offerings, slowly building a solid reputation for quality merchandise and innovative technologies.

As our reputation grew so did our offerings. Trade for technology was profitable, yet risky. Governments became further entrenched, determined to decide which technologies were allowed for trade, and which were acceptable as payment. Space travel and trade was becoming more and more regulated. We became complacent, we believed for a time that mutual peace and trade was the goal for most, including the large empires. As time went on we began to understand that the large empires were expanding, and through means less friendly and acceptable then was acceptable to us. The time came for us to fortify ourselves, and now we have come to a crossroads. Our own technologies began to seem insufficient to protect ourselves. Distasteful information about the expanding boarders of the Cold Empire quickly escalated from a trickle to an outright flashflood.

We have decided to take action now; we are preparing to align ourselves with the Saiyajin Empire, the lesser of two evils. For the exchange of our technologies, we are requesting the extension of their protection, without the extension of their boarders. We are striving to remain a free and self-ruled planet in a universe that is quickly choosing sides. I am Bulma Briefs, 26, young at heart, and off to marry an alien for the benefit of my planet. I am terrified.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

Physically I was packed, mentally I was a room with everything out of place. We had been preparing for months, I devoted half of my day to learning protocol for the "marriage", how to step, act, and even how to excuse myself to pee. When this had all be decided I had been handed a document, a back-breaking file of details, and instructions on how to present myself, from the moment I arrived until the last actions of the ceremony. What I leave out though is the large scale child-like meltdown I experienced when this chore fell to me. I fought, I screamed, I pouted, and threatened, all in the privacy of my own rooms. Then I packed, and packed, and packed.

Compiling enough belongings for a trip that may last between 6 months and 2 years was more then a daunting task. For weeks I had multiple daily deliveries of packages, things I couldn't possibly go without I told myself. I filled a whole capsule with books, everything I had once intended to read, everything I should read, and things I just plain wanted to read. I event included volumes of scientific texts, telling myself that I could get bored. In short, I compressed a library into a tube of lipstick. The more I packed, the more I wanted to bring with me. I was hopeless. I let packing take the place of my insecurities, in short I overpacked, and I am putting that mildly.

When I began to prepare and pack I found I had many questions. Where would I be staying, did I need to bring my own furniture, or entertainment. It took weeks to answer the simplest questions, and while I would like to think that I overpacked out of necessity, in truth I was too impatient, and too scared to wait on an answer. I packed haphazardly in some cases, and with extreme care and discretion in others. When I had eventually finished I had a large handbag filled with capsules, I also had a ridiculously long list of what they contained.

A large collection of people had been engaged to travel with me. There were people who were attending the ceremony only, politicians and military members mostly, and those who were going as my "support" staff. These people would travel with me, and most of them would be returning back home after the ceremony ended. A second smattering of people would arrive after the event, and would be responsible for setting in place our end of the alliance. To me it seemed as if there were far too few of us going, and too many of them.

I admit I mocked the ceremony, a lot. I frequently compared it to a bad Vegas-style shotgun wedding. What I didn't say though was that I hoped the divorce portion came quickly. The ceremony had been agreed upon, and so had the terms of our alliance. The event was for the Saiyajin people, they needed to believe that our planet and people were worthy of them, and by proxy their protection. The deal had be stuck in a way that while politically the two planets would be joined, in reality, things would progress in their society as they always had. The marriage would take place, broadcast and shared to all. After the ceremony I would be responsible for maintain a front. It was estimated I would only have to play at being Queen for six-months. I would be sent back to my planet to rule from afar after a heir had been conceived.

When the heir part had originally been mentioned I threw another classic Bulma fit. Not my proudest of moments, but give a girl a break. I really did think they intended for me to crawl into some twisted idea of a marriage bed. The King would actually be taking a mistress, one carefully selected to allow the people to carry on their bloodline. Once it was confirmed, I would return home and I could return to just being Bulma Briefs. I had two hopes, and a dreams just before I set off the Saiyajin homeworld; that I didn't screw this up, I survived this alive, and the King got down to business quick!

The exhaustive daily preparations for my trip had finally come to a close. I felt like I had learned everything I could to prepare. This was my final day on Earth, and my mother was banging on my door. I put off my annoyances and dressed. I was sure my mother had planned the day out, she was taking this impending separation harder then anyone. It was not that I hadn't left before, I'd searched for the Dragon Balls at 16, and had spent many a summer month traveling. I guess it was the separation of a few billion light years between us that got her this way. I felt ready, finished in away once I had showered and dressed. There was truly nothing left to pack, I couldn't study and more, it was time to go.

I came downstairs to breakfast, a true spread of all my favorite foods. Mother must have been up since the middle of the night preparing. She had prepared the formal dining room. Guests had arrived, friends and family were seating themselves around the table. It was a sweet gesture, and I greatly appreciated it. I walked around the grounds with friends, and spent my last hours saying my good-byes. It was a bittersweet day for sure. As everyone left that evening I handed out tearful hugs.

The night was sleepless, my bed didn't feel like mine anymore. The shelves around my room were empty. I couldn't sleep, so I got up. The nervous energy propelled me to the ship. It was a combination of saiyajin and earth technology. Really it was pod, pulled apart and expanded upon. It was built for long-term transportation, and done so with comfort in mind. It could carry a crew compliment of 10, with an additional 30 passengers. The shape was no longer the sphere sported by a pod, it was elongated, like an ellipse. Sleek and delicate in its appearance, the ship hid a sophisticated defense system under its silver-white skin.

My aboard ship room was utilitarian to say the least. Everything was bolted down in designs taken from submarines, and previous spacecraft. I tossed my bag of packed capsules in drawer. I would unpack my trip essentials later. In a few hours the crew and passengers would be arriving, and shortly after we would be underway. I had butterflies in my stomach. The longer I stood in the empty ship the more anxious I became, I needed to get underway. I had a month of space time ahead of me, by all rights, I shouldn't have been so keen to lock myself inside a ship.

Other crew began arriving earlier then expected. It appeared as if I was not the only one ready to go. Secured for liftoff I nervously waited for the engines to rumble to life. Systems came online throughout the ship and my feet sensed a slight vibration as we began to take off. I watched out my window as 4 saiyajin pods streaked into the atmosphere above us. Our escorts had also been my teachers, and their negotiators. They traveled in stasis to limit their drain on our resources.

Excitement ran rampant throughout the ship as we lifted higher and higher. People chattered, smiled and laughed as we pushed through into space. Only a handful of the 40 people aboard had been to space before. For me, it was still as beautiful as it had been the first time I ventured to the stars.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

February 25, 2008

Word had been received, the earthling had departed her planet. Preparations were already underway. The advisors the empire had sent to earth had secured an alliance. Instructed to make it appear as if the earthlings needed us more, a satisfactory agreement had been struck. In truth, we required their skills and assets more then we had let on. The empire is crumbling; we are stifling under our own weight. Our need for resources is more then triple what is was when I was the age of my son. We import more then we export, and the costs are beginning to show. The empire was in crisis, and while we had succeeded in hiding it from the people, we have reached a critical juncture. We are in need medical technology, transportation technology, manufacturing technology, most of all. This alliance has been designed to bring the Empire from the brink of economic collapse to an era of prosperity.

Logically the King had to make the choices best suited for the survival of his people. He hid is disgust appropriately. The time had come for the needs of the saiyajin to override long-standing prejudices and old world thinking. The way of the warrior was no longer the only way; his warrior race was evolving, but slowly and without understanding the impact of their old traditions on their new ways. Gluttony and greed was sapping up the resources faster then they could arrive planet side. The King was loosing the battle to keep the empire together. He was unsure of how much longer he could divert resources and supplies from other planets within the empire to his home world. There were already outcries, all quickly squelched and buried. The quicker the alliance was cemented the sooner he would be able to focus his attentions on the expanding Cold Empire.

His son and only heir had taken little if any interest in ruling the empire or taking an active role in preventing its economic downfall. The Prince's interests lay in conquest, battle, and military strategy. He consumed the empire's resources endlessly and without a second thought. The empire was there to serve him, to provide for him, and to allow him to achieve his goals. Running the empire was one of the furthest thoughts from his mind. He believes that it is the role of advisors and councils to deal with the day to day running of the empire, and his place to reap the rewards of his royal birth. The Prince firmly believed in the military hierarchy his people had lived under, seeing little value in economic prosperity, or trade beyond further his own goals.

The King called his son to his presence. He would need to be informed, as useless as the effort was, about the alliance and the role he would be required to play. There was hesitation in the King's voice as he spoke to his son. Strength ruled supreme here, his son could assume the throne at any moment he chose. He expected his death to come at his son's hand; it was how things were done.

"The alliance will solve our economic problems, it will provide us with resources and technologies to prevent our empire from crumbling. The representative is enroute, and upon her arrival our marriage will take place to affirm this arrangement. The prince snorted. "Marrying an off-worlder, disgusting!" The snort turned into a sneer, and face showed contempt. "I suppose there is still a reason for you to remain on that throne. An off-worlder!" He spat the last words.

The King continued to explain the arrangement, neglecting to include the small nuances. There was little reason to include details that would only further anger the prince. His death so soon to the arrival of the Chikyuu expedition would no doubt ensure the beginning of the end of the Saiyajin Empire. His son would never make the sacrifices required of him to return the empire to the glory the prince believed it to be in. His son remained disinterested, his ground his jaw together in a sign of annoyance. Without wanting to push his heir into a further rage he dismissed the Prince. As the frustrated Prince stood to leave the King rose, "It will be your responsibility as King, should you assume _my_ throne to carry out this alliance to ensure the prosperity, and not just the mere survival of the empire."

Space was becoming dull. I missed my friends and I missed the comforts of my home at Capsule Corporation. I had made friends as best I could with the crew and passengers. Part of me still feels apprehension about how much of a friend I can be to these people. Growing up I remember feeling like more of an outsider then an insider. My intellect was often a barrier between myself and other children my age. I had never really felt acceptance and known true friendship until I was 16 and on the hunt for the Dragon Balls. I still hold a deep seated fear about making and keeping friends, and it occasionally rears its head in unfamiliar and lonely situations.

The ship dinned together and we shared evenings of films and board games. The trip had taken on the air of a pleasure cruise. A group of many like-minded people made for many great conversations and intellectual collaboration. Subgroups and cliques had begun to form, people seemed to genuinely enjoying the long space trip. There was a routine and a regularity to each day, and most people seemed to thrive on it. I admit that I kept myself busy, I didn't want to think of home, I was afraid of homesickness.

By the third week I sat in on after meal discussions, physicists discussed and debated, doctors, biologists, and chemists debated what we could expect when we arrived at our destination. I was genuinely beginning to enjoy myself, I felt that I could start letting my guard down and truly be myself. The more we talked amongst ourselves, the more I began to feel as if I was accepted and part of the group, and I loved it.

Mr. Janus, the ship's captain knocked on Ms. Briefs' door. His palms were greased with his sweat as he graduated from knocking to slapping the door with his hands. He could see the shine of his sweaty palm prints as he pounded harder. He couldn't have heard any shuffling within her cabin if he had wanted to, his heart was beating too hard and his was panting with fear and nervousness. His thumping was heard, although by the wrong passenger, the door to the neighboring cabin opened, and a sleepy man glared at the captain. "Clearly she is not in there, stop banging!" The man slammed his own door and retreated back to his disturbed sleep.

"Ms. Briefs! Ms. Briefs?" The captain searched room by room, his desperation was pushing him into a panic. He cursed the lack of a person-to-person communication system and debated calling for her over the loudspeaker. However his logic won over, there was little or no point in alarming the rest of the passengers. He turned to return to the control room, he would send another crewmember to search for her.

Under his feet the ship began to shudder and shake. Grasping the railing he rushed back down the hall. The ship bucked again, something was wrong, the hallway now sloped upwards. Janus pulled on the hand railing to keep himself upright. He could hear screams now; the passengers were panicking. The hall was getting steeper and his arms were beginning to ache. He kept climbing, aiming for the cabin next to Ms. Briefs', he needed to get out of the hall and into somewhere he could rest his arms. He beat on the door, cursing that the old man probably couldn't reach the door to let him in. The hallway was tilting again; it was almost a full 90 degrees from its original position.

Janus was no longer as young as he once was, space travel was a new frontier, a high paying one at that. He had hoped to make up for a failed lifetime of neglecting to save for his own inevitable retirement. Piloting this ship was supposed to be a high paying no stress job, he was certainly earning his keep now.

He began to scale the handrail like a ladder, keeping his eye on the curve in the handrail above him. He would have to climb has high as he could before the hallway curved. Janus' arms were tiring quickly, and he still needed to figure out how to traverse from his side of the hall to the opposite side. He consoled his tired arms with the thought that he could soon stand on his own two feet. The tilt in the ship's hallway had made an inverted U out of the hallway, and he was quickly approaching the top.

Bulma had been preparing a late night snack when the ship began to buck and bounce. Her immediate reaction was to rush to the mechanical room. She had deduced that something had malfunctioned or interfered with the gravity generator. The liquid in her cup of tea sloped closer and closer to the rim, the ship was gradually tilting further. Without immediate attention the gravity generator could increase the gravity past acceptable levels for human comfort, or the ship could continue to invert itself until they were stranded in deep space. Were the saiyajin escorts aware of the trouble they were facing? Would they help the ship?


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

April 17, 2008

Janus had finally reached the top of the hallway, and was debating his next move. His palms burned from clenching the railing so tightly. He had two choices, he could attempt to jump across the hall, from the hand railing to the wall, or he could swing himself across using the handrailing. His hands were still sweating, making him worry about his chances.

Frantically he wiped his hands on his pants, blowing on his palms to cool the burning sensation. Refusing to dwell on his choices any longer he began to make his way across the ceiling, swinging on the handrailing. He was relieved when his boot finally scraped the wall, which had become the floor.

Bulma reached the door as the ship rocked and tilted, she struggled through the opening and into the hallway. The ship began to tilt, and shake harder. She rushed down the hallway, determined to make it to the mechanical room to stop the malfunction. Reaching the mechanical room door she grasped the handle at the right moment, as her hand grasped the handle, the floor slipped out from under her. She slammed hard into the wall as the ship bucked, disorienting her. Everything was bouncing and shuddering, all she could do was hold onto the door handle the best she could.

On the other side of the ship Captain Janus was preparing to scale across the handrail to the far side of the hallway. Mid-way over the hallway beneath him he hung onto the railing as shudders rocked the ship. He could feel himself sliding down the railing towards the wall. The ship was changing its orientation again. The railing vibrated in his hands, signaling the events that were yet to come.

It started gradually at first, everything began to shift again, the ship was slowly turning end of end for the second time. Janus struggled to reach his goal, the railing on the far wall. As the ship tilted further he was able to hook his toes around the railing, working his hands closer. He held on as long as he could, his hands slipping from the sweat, and fatigue. At the last possible moment he let go. He had been lucky, the ship had tilted to the right angle to make the hallway into a long slide. Janus tumbled to a halt at the bottom of the hall, and lay dazed. Focusing his eyes he noted that he had reached the door to the bridge, even if it was upside down.

Hanging from the door handle Bulma felt the ship halt its bucking. She cautiously opened her eyes and looked around. She was hanging above the steeply slanted hallway floor, he toes could just barely keep purchase on the floor. Her arms were beginning to burn with the effort of holding herself up. As the ship settled she could hear cries for help, and sounds of movement from other crew members. She opened her mouth and cried out for help, then waited for a response.

Janus forced open the door of the bridge and entered. Surverying the damage he noticed that everything looked as it should, nothing had been disturbed. Computer monitors flashed frantically with warnings and alerts. The Captain struggled to understand the extent of the damage, and what had happened to his ship. Frantically he sent out a request for help from the Saiyajin escort party.

Bulma listened to more internal noises, hoping for a response to her cries. All she could hear were occasional distant thumps and the continued cries from her crewmates. She struggled to keep her hands from slipping off the door handle. The thought of the long tumble down the hallway kept her holding on. There was a new set of sounds now, faint scraping noises, they were growing in volume, drowning out everything else.

She could only think of rescue, release from the handle. Her mind became solely focused on keeping her hands around the warm metal of the door. Time passed very slowly as she hung in the hallway, the scraping noises had ceased now. Bulma's mind could only focus on the pain in her hands now; her fingers were beginning to cramp. The air around her suddenly felt hotter, and heavier, it became harder to breathe. Between the pain in her hand and the difficulty in filling her lungs, Bulma's body just gave up. The handle slipped slowly through her fingers, exhausted hands releasing their grip. He feet kicked at the slanted hall floor, hoping to get leverage. Nothing could stop her fall, her feet lost their grip, and her hands slipped off the handle. Bulma could feel herself sliding down the hallway, she fell onto her stomach and began to slide faster down the hall. With her body tense and her eyes squeezed shut, she prepared for the inevitable crash at the bottom of the hallway.

Suddenly she was weightless, the crash never came. Opening an eye she looked up, one of the Saiyjin had entered the ship, and was now carrying her up through the ship. He was flying her up through the hallway. The air was heavier and hotter now, the warrior was giving off an incredible about of body heat, enough to heat the air around him.

"Thank you", she squeeked out. The warrior gave her a sideways glance and continued to carry her upwards through the air. "I need to go back, to the mechanical room, I need to fix the problem." He looked at her again, and it hit her, he couldn't understand her. Her words must have sounded like gibberish to his ears. Bulma turned her head to see the warrior better. Then she brought one of her hands to the arm around her waist, and touched it tentatively. His skin was oddly soft, and very warm. The Saiyajin looked at her again, she pointed with her free arm back towards the mechanical room. When he didn't respond, she tugged on his arm and indicated again to turn around.

He grunted and stopped his flight and began to descend back down the hallway. Her neck ached from straining to look over her shoulder at her rescuer, and she could see the doorway coming up below them. Her mind switched over, and instantly she began analyzing the potential causes of the situation. Without any effort the warrior pulled open the door, raising it above his head, while ushering them inside. He dropped her on the floor, which was actually the side wall.

Grumbling she stood and shot one of her glares to the warrior. Stalking over to the nearest control she pulled off the panel to check the damage. No damage, she breathed a sigh of relief. Reaching as high as she could she repeated the process until she couldn't reach any more. Turning she indicated to the warrior to approach her. As best she could she motioned for a lift up to the higher panels, and to some of the equipment located on the ceiling. The warrior didn't flinch, he stood unmoving, with an almost bored look on his face. Rolling her eyes she snapped her fingers in front of his face, and made motions to the side of her face.

He reached into his uniform and pulled out a white metal device. Bulma snatched it without fear. Regardless of how strong the man before her was; he was absolutely useless if she couldn't communicate with him. Briefly she wondered if other members of the delegation had boarded their ship to help. The device, a Scouter, was just as she expected it to be, it was an older model, one of the first Scouters that Capsule Corporation had mass produced for the Saiyajin when their trade agreement was still in its infancy.

She sat down and began to dismantle the device. In her peripheral vision she could see the warrior's face register shock as she pulled off the external panels. She was intimately familiar with these devices, having been the one to redesign them 3 years ago. Still, they had moved through 3 more generations since the device in her hand had first been released. The internal circuitry had been tampered with, a battlefield upgrade by someone with little experience with electronics. It raised her ire to find that someone had been tampering with her project. While she was all for upgrades, and improvements, this hack job was just that, a hack job!

The warrior seemed more willing to listen to her now, something about tearing apart his Scouter made him stand up and take notice. She pointed to a case strapped to the wall above them, she needed the tools inside of it. Complying the alien brought her the case. She handed back the device, and indicated he should put it on. His facial expression changed again once he booted it up. Bulma had engaged a translation program, something she had insisted upon each Scouter having. Slowly she spoke, checking to see if the device still functioned. The warrior nodded, the program was working.

The first words out of her mouth were sharp and vicious. They caught the warrior off guard. For a tiny alien woman, she was not anything like he expected her to be. Having not encountered her before during the negotiations, he was unsure what to make of her. "Next time you want to fuck around with my devices, don't do a hack job. For all you know the next time you turned it on it would have blown away half your skull!"

"Something is off with the gravity generator, and its impacting the main drive system", the clueless look on the warrior's face told her he knew nothing about these things. "The ship is tilting out of control because something is wrong up there!" She pointed to a console "I need a lift, and you're going to help me." Acknowledging his fate the warrior lifted her up to the consol.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

April 17th- 18th, 2008

Three days have passed since our gravity generator suffered a burn out. It took me and a few crew members two days to repair the problem, and get the ship back underway. Some of the Saiyajin had come out of their stasis to help. We have been using their strength to help effect repairs in some areas. There is minimal damage, mostly caused by supplies that were not stored as required. There have been a range of injuries; from bruises to broken bones. Those with the worst injuries have been put into the Saiyajin pods, and into stasis, we are doing our best to make them as comfortable as we can for the remainder of our trip.

We've had to push back our arrival time, and have sent one of the four escorts ahead. We sent Turo, the one who helped me, ahead. We should be arriving in just under a week. The remaining Saiyajin are stotic, and dull, they are also eating all of remaining food supplies. I almost think they are bitter about having to share a ship with us. Even the delegation member who was assigned to teach me their customs no longer seems interested in conversing, or going over my lessons. I think we will all be glad to get off this ship.

The boring trip we set out on is not longer boring. Everyone is quiet now; there are no more evenings of games or scientific discussions. Each night, everyone returns to their rooms, and spends their night in solitude. I am missing the human contact. Each night I would pick up my book, and then never open it. I spent the evening laying in bed thinking, over thinking, and re-thinking. I was letting my nervousness get the better of me.

Captain Janus knocked on Ms. Briefs' door, there was something she needed to see. Even though Janus had signed on for the pay, he still retained an understanding and a respect for the mission. He was not beyond discretion. She answered the door promptly, opening it just enough to poke her head outside, "yes?" He took a deep breath, "there is something you should see, an incoming message." Bulma could hear the nervousness in his voice, something wasn't quite right. She nodded her head, and closed the door to dress.

Once on the bridge the Captain motioned to one of the three Saiyajin standing proudly in front of her. Al three of them looked very similar, brown-black spiky hair, muscled build, and blank expression. One stepped forward, and without ceremony he destroyed the alliance they'd all worked so hard to establish, "the King is dead, succeeded by his son, the Prince."

The room was silent, Bulma couldn't form words as her brain was rushing frantically to understand how this development would impact her. Her mind was caterwauling, howling possibilities too loud for her to make sense of. This trip was definitely not going to plan. The same Saiyajin spoke again, "we will have to work quickly to preserve our alliance. Key changes will need to be made." He gestured to a computer screen, and Bulma sat down in front of it. Prompted by the system, she replayed the message on screen.

The video message was grainy, the quality of the message was low making it hard to discern fine details. It was an untranslated message, presumably transferred from a pod in the old to the bridge. She couldn't understand the voice over, and looked to the warriors for help, none offered help. All eyes were focused on the screen. The video began with a panned out image of what Bulma took to be the capital city on Vejitasei. In its grainy glory the city seemed to be sprawling, colorful, and built to withstand any assault.

The film then cut to a new scene, an arena of sorts. It was a large arena that seemed to be carved out of stone. The seats were filled with Saiyajin, all cheering, and calling out. There was activity in the center of the arena, but Bulma couldn't make it out, to her it was just blurs kicking up the occasional dust cloud. The voice over picked up again, this time picking up in speed and excitement. The video closed in on the action in the arena, the crowd was becoming more excited, frantic even. It all came to a tumultuous stop suddenly; silence overcame the arena. The camera closed in on the action, it too had stopped. A man with dark upswept hair stood in the center, one foot propped up on a fallen body. His features were impossible to make out, the crowd broke out in applause and hoots of praise. It appeared to be the winner in what was assumed to be a battle of sorts.

The voice over resumed, pausing to let the winner's voice ring out. He spoke sharply, and quickly. His voice was deep, and the words rolled off his tongue easily. Even without a translation Bulma could still discern a few key points. This man clearly was used to public speaking, he seemed confident in himself by the way he spoke. His posture signaled authority, and almost a haughty sense of superiority. It dawned on her then, this was nothing more then video propaganda. Probably carefully constructed, cut, and worded to portray the Prince in the most flattering of lights. The video had most likely been distributed around the empire, translated into numerous languages, and shipped in bulk. Immediately she felt some distrust for the prince, and hesitation about the alliance she was about to consummate.

She sat back, and watched the faces of those around here. "Where do we go from here? How does the Empire wish to proceed?" She slipped into her corporate persona, she recognized the potential disaster that could come to their alliance, and immediately set about preparing to do damage control. Earth needed this, and she would do everything in her power to maintain the agreement, and bring her homeworld under the protection of the Saiyajin Empire. "We must confer with the Prince's council" her teacher spoke. She nodded her understanding and excused herself for the evening.

A sleepless night passed slowly, Bulma tossed and turned all night. Her mind was fully of apprehension about the alliance. Would her trip be in vain? Was all the learning she'd done in the prior months worthless? What would happen in the next few days when they arrived at their destination? Sleep was too elusive; it would not be forthcoming. Giving up, she got out of bed, and began to sort through her bag of capsules. She felt a compulsion to review the protocols and procedures for her visit and stay on the planet.

Her Saiyajin teacher knocked on her door a few hours later. He found her sitting on the floor with documents, texts, and random papers. Her behavior reinforced his original assumptions about their earth emissary, she was odd, and apparently not just so by human standards either. In the time they had spent together, she proved to be incredibly intelligent, to levels beyond what he had ever encountered before. To him her mind worked on levels beyond that of regular beings. Her tongue also seemed to lash out at super speeds as well.

Touch down to the planet was only a day away, and still both parties had been unable to come to an agreement about the new terms of the alliance. The Prince had conveyed that he was unwilling to even be associated with an off-worlder. His stubbornness was the lynchpin in the destruction of their alliance. Without this sham marriage Bulma, or earth, wouldn't have a political leg to stand on. Sans the affirmation of their agreement in a way that would secure earth under the protective reach of the Saiyajin Empire, nothing would motivate the Empire to protect a planet that sat on the furthest reaches of the galaxy.

As the day wore on Bulma became more and more fed up, she was under the pressure of a deadline, and there was no progress being made. The Prince, or rather his council, wanted to remain with the original agreement, Chikyuu would provide technologies, and the Empire would provide protection when needed. To Bulma this was unacceptable, within their offer there was no guarantee of protection. Without the marriage, nothing would stop the Empire from ignoring Chikyuu's cries for help should the Cold Empire attack.

It all came to a head the moment the planet came into view. The Prince's council sent a final ultimatum, accept the deal without the security, or they could turn around and return home without the protection of the Empire. Her stubbornness finally won out, she was tired of dealing with underlings, she was exhausted after having spent the day wasting her time speaking with Council members who constantly had to refer to someone else for the answer. Nothing was more frustrating to her then being passed around from useless person to useless person.

"I demand to speak to the Prince!" Her demand sent terror through the Council. The Prince had given strict orders, he did not want to be involved in this "alliance", he wanted no contact what so ever with this off-worlder. The re-negotiations had been left up to the Council to solve. Thinking little of the woman demanding an audience with the prince, a member replied with impuity, "You have our offer. We are no longer open to negotiation." His words triggered Bulma's ire, "then consider our offer withdrawn!" She ended the link.

She stood and stalked out of the room, furious that months of work, had collapsed because a few peons. Back in her room she let her exhaustion from her sleepless previous night overcome her. She woke up periodically throughout the night, her mind was plotting something, but it hadn't yet become clear enough for her to work out the details. Early in the morning she woke up suddenly, and was unable to fall back asleep. The plan she had concocted throughout the night came to the forefront of her thoughts. She would have her alliance, and Chikyuu would be safe,

End.

After having been out of the game for so long, its nice to be back writing. I missed it, and I can't even imagine why I stopped. I started this little project out of sheer boredom, and I have no idea where I'm going with it. Maybe something good will come of this. I already have some of an interest in picking up other projects I never finished. Who knows, maybe some good of this will come yet.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

April 18th to 24th, 2008

Bulma dressed very carefully the next morning, taking an excessive amount of time to dress, and prepare herself. She curled her blue hair into thick waves, and applied just enough make-up to make her cerulean eyes glow, and her lips pop. She was using her femininity to the best of her ability. Dressed in one of her favorite suits, she left her room to find her Saiyajin teacher keeping guard outside of her room.

She was taken aback by the change in his demeanor, he seemed almost bristly, like something was grating upon him. He led her to the bridge, "the Council has re-considered your offer. They wish to speak with you in person." Bulma was relieved that the Saiyajin still seemed to have an interest in their agreement. She was still determined to achieve what she came for.

The docking procedures seemed endless, constant noises, and radio jabber. Captain Janus and his crew were becoming frustrated with the delays. The tension on the ship was mounting, the end of their journey was in sight and it was very slow in forthcoming. The docking port was definitely busy, ships of all sorts and sizes were lining up to dock and unload cargo. The port seemed to be quite the hub of interstellar activity. From their position they could see how the city was divided up. The city actually appeared to be separate from a collection of buildings located to the North-East from the port.

Disembarking the ship was downright heavenly. Bulma never realized how much she could miss the sensation of a breeze tickling her face. The air was thinner here, it took more effort to fill her lungs, and the lack of oxygen made exhaustion come faster. The port smelt strongly, it was nothing that she'd smelt before. It was pungent and thick, coating tongues quickly, until it was all you could smell or taste.

Coming down from the ship onto the dock platform the group gathered with their baggage. Everyone in the expedition had come off the ship, those injured and in stasis stayed onboard, along with the captain and crew. All around them the port was bustling with activity, aliens rushing to and fro. Their escorts towered above them all by at least a foot. Looking around it was easy to get lost in the activity around them. Every member of their party was looking around in awe, taking in the view, and the diversity around them. A contigent of warriors approached their party, the general populace stepped back to let them pass.

The group surrounded the new comers, and ushered them forwards at an uncomfortable pace. Bulma felt more like a prisoner rather then a future queen. Shouldn't there have been a better reception, something more regal? It was what they had discussed, and what she had planned for. She and the others clutched their bags closer, as the pace picked up once again. They were being herded like cattle off the docks and towards a set of bland buildings just inside the city. Members of their escort turned and vanished as they arrived at a set of imposing doors, leaving two new warriors to herd the group inside.

The building was cold, and sterile smelling. To the group it smelt like a lab, or even a medical facility. The walls were a utilitarian tan color, with no decorations, symbols or signs to indicate where they were. They were poked and prodded down a long hallway, until the group was stopped. One of their guards attempted to separate the group. Bulma had reached her boiling point, she stepped forward between the guard and the group. "I'm not having any of this!" He ignored her and shoved her aside.

Bulma stumbled before catching her balance. By the time she was upright again, the second guard was blocking her path. She could do nothing but watch as her party was separated off into small groups and sent through doors lining the hallway. Soon she was the only one left, and blocked behind the burly chest of a tall bald guard. She clutched her bag tightly, and put on her strongest front. She wouldn't let the fear well up any further inside of her. The guard nudged her, wanting her to move into a remaining open doorway. She stepped forward, and through the doorway.

The Prince was furious, his ascension to the throne was not progressing smoothly enough. He has being plagued by advisors and decision makers, bothered constantly for his opinion, and authorization. He had a council for these types of things, constant interruptions like these were a hinderance to his training.

Messages continued to pop up on his personal communicator at all hours, interrupting his sleep and training. His short temper had become even shorter since he had taken over the throne. Even the servants were afraid to enter and clean his rooms. More then one individual bearing bad news had been helped onto the next plane of existence.

He spent the morning in the throne room, holding up decorum, and entertaining whining dignitaries and political parties. At that very moment he regretted letting his temper get the better of him. Had he known how much work truly was involved in running the Empire, he would have abstained from challenging his father. This constant influx of people wanting his attention, and the incessant amount of issues and problems that kept cropping up would drive him insane if he had to continue like this. What he needed was a stand in, someone to take care of all these tedious politics, to make the decisions, and to allow him the training time he so desperately wanted.

While the Prince had been educated and tutored in politics, he held no interest in matters of state. To him it was his birthright to reap the rewards of the Empire. There was a disconnect in his thinking, he couldn't fathom having to run an Empire when he had no interest in such things. He craved battle, and war, strategizing, and executing intricate attack plans. Sometimes though he preferred brute force, a throwback to his people's more primal nature. War was in their blood, it was there heritage, politics was water to the blood, running the Empire would kill him.

The room was too cold for Bulma's tastes, and too poorly lit for her eyes to adjust enough to make out her surroundings. She wished she'd chosen something with longer sleeves. The three quarter length jacket was too thin, and too short to keep her warm. She could hear a humming first; then a metallic ticking of sorts, it was coming from ahead of her. She fumbled towards it, briefly telling herself that she could be walking into her own death.

The sounds stopped, and started up again, this time louder, and more high pitched. The noises were traveling around the room, and Bulma spun on her heels to follow the sound, afraid to loose it. As the noises traveled faster and faster, she had to stop spinning to prevent herself from getting ill. Spinning and her had never done well together, and her reactor to it had gotten worse over the years. The nausa wasn't vanishing on its own, so she bent over and tried to will her body to stop thinking she was still spinning.

As the urge to vomit subsided she straightened up, the room was brighter then it was before. It also felt colder, and the air seemed thinner then it was before. Getting a full breath was harder, and she really to work for it. Her chest hurt from working so hard to breathe. It suddenly became harder and harder to breath, like she had rushed up to the top of a mountain where the air was thinner.

Black spots started dancing in front of her eyes, and she began to feel tipsy. The room seemed to becoming brighter now, and it was beginning to hurt her eyes. The ache in her chest made the pain from here eyes seem that much sharper. A hissing noise started above her, she couldn't turn her eyes to look, she had to force them closed to keep the pain from the light at bay. The hissing became louder, more furious, and a strong musky scent filled the air. It became easier to breath almost immediately, the musky smell was in her mouth and in her nose, it was all she could smell and taste.

The smell had become thick, and it felt like it was coating her tongue. The urge to vomit was returning. Just as she felt her stomach would send its contents up her esophagus, it all stopped. The light was shut off, and the smell was dissipating quickly. She still felt woozy from whatever had happened in the room. I'll sit down she though, just for a moment though, to catch her breath she justified to herself. On the floor she fumbled to keep sitting straight, she kept tilting back and forth, and the room was taking quite some time to catch up to what her body was telling her. Suddenly the practically of laying down on the floor was all she could think about. Using her arm as a pillow she drifted off into a sleep on the floor, oblivious to all the reasons why she should be fighting this pressing urge to close her eyes.


	7. Chapter 6

4/27/2009

Chapter 6

Before she even opened here eyes, she was aware of the hangover-like headache that filled her mind. She closed her eyes again, and attempted to crawl back into sleep. She was aware of how cold she was, chilled, and needing another blanket. Eventually she gave up at going back to sleep, the cold was making it too difficult, and she was becoming uncomfortable rolled up into a ball.

Forcing her eyes opened she cringed, this felt just like a hangover, but three times as bad. There was a good reason why she didn't over indulge in alcoholic beverages, the next morning just didn't agree with her. This morning had all the trademarks of the morning after an evening of heavy drinking, except she hadn't drank anything, she'd spent a few moments in that dark room.

Rubbing her face she realized that it felt tender, and her eyes were both sore and puffy. Whatever had happened in that room was a mystery to her, and it seemed to have lasting effects. She looked at her hand and squeeled in fright, her fingers were bloated and inflated, like long sausages with fingernails on their ends. She stretched out and stared at her legs through bleary eyes, they too were swollen. Vaguely she recognized that there was pain coming from feet, her shoes were now considerably tight. It hit her then, everything was too tight. She seemed to have gained 3 sizes everywhere on her body. It all ached, and the slightest movement set off the hangover-like feelings.

Bulma struggled to remove her shoes. Her toes were cramping, and starting to go numb. Her swollen fingers were not helping. Never before had she ever regretted wearing such cute shoes as she had at that moment. Once they were off her feet immediately felt some relief. The light in the room seemed to have dimmed slightly since she set about fumbling with the straps on her shoes. Either she was getting used to the aches, or they were slowly diminishing, she wasn't sure. She stood slowly, her joints ached, and the waistband of her skirt dug in. Her jacket now felt too tight, and her breasts felt crushed behind her bra.

Walking was painful, her joints burned, and she felt wobbly and unsure of every movement. The pain was still manifesting itself, although now it came in waves. Each cresting wave felt like it would bring bile up into her mouth. Something was undeniably wrong, and it seemed to be getting worse. When she came the wall the best she could do was slide down back to the floor. She sat at the wall and began to tune in and out of reality. Not moving seemed to be the best option at the time. After a time she began to feel warmer, and soon enough she felt like she was on fire. Opening her eyes she could see her skin was flushed, and glowing red. She moved her arms to inspect them closer, and found they felt like they were running rampant with tiny bugs. There were pinpricks of cold pain up and down her body now, it was becoming unbearably hot and itchy. She started to sob, the pain was breaking her down. The sobs became screams shortly thereafter.

The doors were opened and the same guard who had shoved her through the other doors was looking stotic, and unphased by what he saw. Bulma saw nothing else afterwards, the room had gone dark, her eyes were pressed so tightly closed in pain that she couldn't open them.

Bulma woke for a second time, this experience though was far less painful. She was on a large hard mattress. Her mind felt sluggish, but there was no more pain. Her hands looked normal again. Someone had removed her rings and jewelry. She could see purple bruising around her fingers where her rings had been, someone must have cut them off. It occurred to her then to see what else this unknown someone or someones had done while she was unconscious. Her hair was wet, and smelt of chemicals. Her skin also had the same smell. It was like she'd been swimming and her skin had absorbed the chemical smells. Her clothes were gone, and she had been re-dressed, barely. She was semi-clothed in a spandex type strapless dress. It was short, and far too tight for her tastes, covering barely above her breasts all the way down to a couple inches short of utter indecency.

She rolled to one side and felt tenderness in her waist. She pulled up the dress quickly, and confirmed her suspicions, the waistband of her skirt had bruised her too. This was just as bad as ring bruises, but far larger. It was undoubtably going to ache later. Bulma felt surprisingly good aside from her bruises. It was almost as if she'd had the best sleep of her life. Perhaps it was just the sudden change from being in so much pain, to practically none at all. It felt almost euphoric to move now.

Surveying the room around her she confirmed she was somewhere in the South Palace. The architecture was the give away. The King alternated between the Southern and Northern Palaces depending on the time of year. It was one of the longstanding Saiyajin traditions the King maintained. Aside from her general location, Bulma couldn't discern much else. The room was dull, it was painted the uniform beige she'd seen in the building they'd been originally escorted to. She thought there might have been a faint chemical smell to the air but was unsure, all she seemed to be able to smell was herself. There was a door to one side, and she quickly strode over to it. It opened silently and she stared into a long brightly lit hallway. "Hello?" she called out briefly, hearing her voice echo faintly. The floor was cold on her feet, and it was giving her the chills. Deciding against wandering, she returned to the room and crawled back onto the mattress. She laid there for quite some time before dozing off slowly.

A beeping noise woke her. The door was beeping. She stared at it briefly from position on the mattress. Her brain while less sluggish then earlier, still took a moment or two to acknowledge the sound. Once again she stood, fixed her dress as best she could, and walked towards the door. The door opened just as she had arrived to it. The original guard from the dock was standing in the hall. He seemed taller this time now that she was without the extra height her heels provided her. She stepped back and motioned for him to enter.

He grunted a refusal, and motioned for her to follow him. He never paused to see if she was following as he strode off down the hall. Bulma had to half jog to keep up with his long quick strides. The dress certainly wasn't helping either, she had to hold herself in her dress as she ran. The guard stopped at the end of the hallway and directed her towards a set of doors. The doors opened and together they stepped into what seemed to be the elevator equivalent on the planet.

His tail was lashing behind him, and his eyes were transfixed on her breasts. She scowled and turned her back towards him slightly. The doors were closed now, and Bulma waited patiently. The cold was starting to get to her now, and the goosebumps were painful. The room wasn't an elevator, it was more akin to a secret passage entrance. Once the doors were closed the wall opposite slid open.

She was having a waking dream about stepping into her own death as they walked down the next hallway. It seemed interminable. Her heels ached, the goosebumps ached, and her arms ached from holding her chest so close. It was easier to allow her mind to wander rather then focus on the repetitive slaps her feet were making on the cold smooth floor. Her daydream let her stumble right into the back of the guard. She mumbled her apologies outloud, and rolled her eyes at her own inner monologue's comment that he must have liked it.

They entered yet another corridor, this one however was punctuated by steep sets of stairs. They were moving upwards now. Her bag slapped noisily on her thigh with each stair, and for a short while the noise annoyed her into pushing herself to climb the stairs faster. Quickly though the noise was overcome by her own panting. She knew the atmosphere here was thinner, however she'd never expected to be so quickly out of breath.

The stairs eventually stopped, although only after the rest of her body ached. They emerged in a dark hallway, the lighting seemed to be off. The guard seemed to be quite nervous as he picked up his pace. This time though he was watching for her, and held out a gentle hand to halt what would be another faceplant into his backside. The hallway was suddenly lit by an open door. Artificial light was streaming into the hall, Bulma wanted to look around but was ushered inside. She'd caught glimpses of paintings, and hints of dark burgundy on the walls.

She was in a large room, it reminded her of a tall cylinder. The ceilings were well over 100ft tall, peppered with tall arched windows. The guard had remained at the door as she studied the room. It was quite grand she thought, a couple steps up then what she was used at home. Everything seemed to be ornate in some fashion, and every object seemed to be covered with subtle designs, hardly decipherable unless one looked quite closely. She agreed mentally that the room was quite close in shape, but not in size to the details provided to her before her departure.

"Will you be staying long?" She eyed the guard. His chest puffed out and his tail tightened further around his waist. "I am your interim guard until you are settled." His voice was gruff, and raspy, almost as if he rarely used it. "What is in an Interim Guard? "It is my responsibility to watch over you until you meet with the King, and until your future on Vejitasei is decided." His tone was sharper this time, with annoyance creeping into the raspy quality of his voice. The conversation seemed to have come to a natural ending.

Rather then force a conversation, she re-focused herself onto unpacking the bag of capsules she was carrying. She needed clothes, proper ones beyond this slinky sheath, and to achieve that she would need somewhere to change. She made mention to the guard about the lack of facilities, and he turned his back to her, although not before she saw the roll of his eyes. He'd been standing in front of a small panel the whole time. With the quick push of a button, a doorway slid open, an entrance into a washroom.

Dressed and acquainted with the semi-alien facilities, she returned wanting to ask questions to the guard about the others in her party. He was gone, he must have slipped out while she had been dressing. Frustrated she intended to leave to search for him, or her associates. The door, however, was locked. It was a digital lock, and she had no doubt of her abilities to open it. Bulma sat on the large round mattress to think.

Things were not progressing, or even happening, as originally planned. Obviously the untimely death of the King was unfortunate, but it did not mean that she could not adapt and make this alliance work. She had to, there was too much riding on this to let anything jeopardize the situation. Affirmed in her position, she promised herself that she would become the named queen of Vejitasei, and she would force the Saiyajin to extend their mantle of projection over her beautiful blue and green Chikyuu.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

September 20, 2009

Patiently she'd waited in what now felt like a tiny room for hours. At first she'd abstained from breaking through the digital lock, it would leave a poor impression on the council. Instead she lay on the mattress to think out her next steps. Her mind however kept reverting to thoughts about how this round monstrosity of a bed reminded her of a bad 70s porn throw back.

When the light had diminished from the tall windows, Bulma had officially given up on waiting. There was too much at stake for her to just sneak out, yet sitting around in this room was useless. She began by exploring the panel inset next to the door. It was a simple device to figure out, it was the awkward child of a light switch, door lock, and translator. It was an odd combination that served to control all the functions within the room. It only took moments to convince the digital lock to let her out. When it came to technology Bulma's touch was nothing short of a siren's song.

The corridor outside was not lit. The floor became gritty and slippery a few steps from the door. The air felt thin to her lungs, and it had a stale damp taste to it. This was not the way she'd entered the room before. This was a poor choice, and she acknowledged it by returning to the room.

Bored, she did the only thing she could think of to entertain herself, she showered. She scrubbed the chemical off her skin and out of her hair. Double checking over herself more thoroughly this time. More bruises were rising to the surface now, all deep purples, greens, and blues. Whatever had happened to her upon her arrival must have caused an impossible amount of swelling.

Dressed again she began to fidget with the digital panel. The technology was simple, but not a sayajin as she'd previously encountered. She became engrossed in understanding the less the subtle departures in this technology then everything else she'd previously encountered. Her Interim Guard found her sitting in the center of the disassembled panel when he returned. She looked sheepish and promised to return it to proper working order.

He grunted at her to follow him, and Bulma decided that talking was definitely not this man's forte. This time the hallway was once again dark, however the floor was smooth and clean, and the damp musty smell had vanished. "Should I be bringing my things?" She was wary of leaving her bag of capsules unattended. He never answered and continued to walk down the dim hallway.

Bag thumping on her thigh again Bulma struggled to keep up with the pace set by the guard. This foray in the bowels of the palace was not only getting old, but it was exhausting. They emerged in a carpeted hallway, brightly lit and filled with smells and sounds. The guard picked up the pace once again.

She arrived huffing and puffing through a set of double doors. The guard had shoved her through without respite to catch her breath. His actions were wordless, and she felt some anger when he closed the door behind her and she saw what she was faced with. The stern, unyielding, and unwilling faces of the Prince's council all focused on her panting form.

"We the Royal Council of Vejitasei have convened to agree on the deliverance of Chikyuu technologies." Bulma wanted to find her Interim Guard and beat him, severely. She was unprepared for this meeting. She paused a moment to long before finding her footing.

"Good Evening Genlemen, I am Bulma Briefs. As we all know why it is that I am here, let us just be blunt. Chikuyuu has a deal with the Vejitasei Empire, and we are unwilling to provide to you technology without a firm binding agreement of protection. I'm sure we can all understand that that original parameters of this agreement have changed. I and my party, on behalf of Chikyuu, are willing to negotiate an alternative to marriage, however we are unwavering in our demand for protection."

"If you are unwilling to negotiate to meet this single term, then we also are unwilling to negotiate and will take our unique abilities elsewhere, potentially to the Cold Empire." This was an awkward ruse. They'd never had any intention of aligning themselves with the Cold Empire. The only alternative to Vejitasei protection was to go it on their their own. While technologically advanced in some matters, Chikyuu couldn't possibly hope to hold her own against an aggressor as large or as overpowering as the Cold Empire.

The council of 6 remained as they were. A few rustled nervously in their seats, and others put on a mask of boredom. Bulma kept her body calm and loose fighting the urge to tighten up her palms into angry and frustrated fists.

"What it is that Chikyuu will offer us that should persuade us to delve into the far reaches of this galaxy to provide such a small and backwater planet protection?" The same council man spoke, he did nothing to hide his thoughts on the benefits of this arrangement. His decision had already been made, he was not in favor of a mutually beneficial accord between the two worlds.

"Technology and knowledge" She replied.

"Backwater technology? What interest is there in that to an Empire as large and as powerful as we are?" He shot back.

"You are a proud people, and we can acknowledge and appreciate that. You are however not a people adept or overtly inclined towards scientific progress, or advancement. Your Empire is built and maintained by the technologic abilities and prowess of others." She was hitting her stride now, pulling together all she'd learned and researched into this one moment.

"You're work force is built on off-planet laborers and off-planet resources. We are a self-sufficient planet courtesy of our 'backwater' status and location, we have no one else to depend on for all of our basic needs. We are offering to you our knowledge and technologies in agriculture, transport, textiles, and manufacturing to help reduce your dependence on others."

She felt emboldened by her ability to hold her own against the group leering down at her. "You conquor others to maintain your Empire. We're offering you an alliance, one built on an equal partnership, one in which we can both benefit." She paused to dig through her bag for a particular capsule.

She released on contents of the capsule with no thoughts on its impact. The council members shrank back when it went off. From the floor she gathered a computer table and booted it up. The council members looked wary, capsule technology had been spoken of, but it'd never been witnessed by them first hand. The stories and a few samples brought back by stationed warriors were quickly bartered off to the highest bidders.

"From what we understand and can extrapolate from that data provided to us, I can make the following promises as collateral on an agreement. However, you have all already been given a gift, from myself, as the first step towards an agreement. Each of you carry a Scouter, do you not? Four years ago the King and our government had a minor trade agreement in place. The first item that we improved upon were your Scouters. I personally redesigned them to provide you better battery life, translation abilities, and increased scanning sensitivities. Improvements such as these are what we can offer you." She took a deep breath and continued.

"We can also promise you improvements in other areas that you require our aid. On the condition that we can come to an agreement on an egalitarian partnership of course."

The council seemed to sway in both directions, both for upholding the agreed to alliance, and for not. Although the not option also seemed to carry a sense of something less salient. "We will confer on this, you will leave". The council member was both curt and cold in his dismissal. Immediately the doors behind Bulma opened and she was once again escorted by her Interim Guard.

After she'd left the council began to argue in earnest. The split amongst them was down the middle. Three members wished to engage Chikyuu in talks, and remaining members were against there idea all together. Some wished to conquor Chikyuu for the technology, and others wanted to do nothing more then dismiss the backwater planet.

The discussion had fallen apart and was not nothing more then an argument of wills. Members were now arguing for the sake of arguing, unable to discuss the issue at hand with any sort of civility. The true warrior nature of the Saiyajin has bubbled to the surface. Politics to them was nothing more then attack planning. They were limited in their own abilities to see past their own culture and own unique needs to acknowledge that the needs of the Empire should and did surpass the needs of the Saiyajin people.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

September 20 to October 4, 2009

The bickering was out of control. His father was right, and he begrudgingly admitted it, the council had lost its purpose. The Prince had always known that they only served their own agendas. The former King had always been wary of allowing too much happen beneath him, which was something the Prince had always attributed to paranoia. Vegeta firmly believed that his father's paranoia stemmed from his lack of strength when measured against his son. He'd always suspected that his father's need to entrench himself with the lower classes and to have an hand in every detail of running the empire was his way of ensuring his own long-term survival.

The Prince was in a mood. He was regretting the death of his father, if only for the fact that the weight of the Empire's needs had increased to an almost unbearable responsibility. He was constantly bothered and interrupted by an endless procession of administrators. There was no longer any freedom in his day from the constant interaction with those he saw as beneath him.

He'd been standing in the wing of the council chamber preparing to share his anger when the Chikyuu-jin had been escorted in. The council was clearly divided over her stance. He evaluated her as she spoke, she was tall, slender, and clearly fragile. She lacked the muscle definition he was used to in females. She was also far more endowed as well.

She'd finished her plea, and was quickly escorted out. When the doors opened her scent was pushed through the air. She was unquestionably exotic, sweet, and there was one last scent he couldn't place, or name. When the doors closed he caught one last tendril of her scent, which ignited his anger and frustration again. The familiar chemical smell was in the air, faintly, mixed in with her own. He placed the scent immediately, and mentally added another question to demand of the council.

As the doors closed and the council's arguing continued he stood in the wing. They'd descended into petty bickering, and he'd seen enough proof. His council was not only incompetent but their interest in advancing themselves was putting increased pressure on him to take over the mantle of his father's duties, rather then allowing him to delegate such tasks. Maintenance of the Empire was not his mandate. He was Prince, and he was responsible to lead his Empire and expand it, not to be held back and down by the petty affairs of managing its day-to-day requirements. He did not have the time to corral and watch over the council men as they argued over how best to serve themselves under the guise of serving his empire.

He stepped out of the wing and paced to the center of the room. There was an unacceptable period of time that passed before the council members acknowledged his presence. Vegeta was unaccustomed to such disrespect, a behavior that had grown since he'd dispatched his father and cleared his own path to the thrown.

His advisors were failing at keeping him abreast of such important topics. The council men were running amok, and it was slowly becoming apparent now as to why is father felt the need to entrench himself in the miniscule details of the empire rather then focusing his strength on expansion. His father had lead the Empire, however it was becoming clear as why he'd held the boarders and focused on trade agreements rather then on expansion.

The council snapped to attention. In the months before they would have respectfully lowered their eyes in submission. Now they met the Prince's gaze straight on. He disliked this new need for his underlings to push the boundaries of appropriate decorum that had stood for years. He felt another twinge of guilt for not removing his father in a more public manner. Having that image clip sent out of an earlier victory may have been an inadvertent miscalculation on his part. It failed to inspire the fear he was accustomed to ruling with.

After the Prince had sufficiently expressed his anger and frustration he left the councilmen cowering with looks of seething displeasure on their faces. The Prince was interfering in ways that he had never before involved himself. Even the King had provided them the space they required to maneuver the Empire's agenda while securing their own agendas. The King had never interfered just overseen.

He stalked down the hall his anger building. He was furious at how quickly things began to slip out of his control. He was a strong, competent leader, he excelled on the battlefield and his military prowess was unquestioned. Yet now, in his own home he was being questioned repeatedly in ways he'd never been tested before. It infuriated him and drove him to distraction.

Bulma dragged her feet on the walk back to her room. She was still worked up over the impromptu council meeting. She was antsy about being unable to find out where the rest of her party was, and infuriated over the lack of any response from her Interim Guard. She had no idea how long she'd been on the planet, where her people were, or what was in her immediate future. It was a struggle to keep her own temper in check.

She'd been briefed firmly and repetitively about what to expect from the Saiyajin in terms of behavior. She'd also been reminded quite a few times to check her temper, as regardless of her potential status, it was still something that could get her into trouble. Sayajin females were in the minority and by that fact alone garnered some level of respect. However, the degree to which this would apply to her, an off-worlder, was questionable.

Feeling like gambling she stopped, and in her best authoritative voice demanded answers, and the be taken to the rest of her party. The guard turned and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her down the hallway, and keeping his silence. She struggled and dug her feet it, however she was no challenge to the guard. Soon enough she found herself back in her old room tossed unceremoniously on the horribly tacky round bed.

Fuming she decided she was done with this secretive attitude. Once again she had surrounded herself with the digital control board. This time her goal was now information. The panel had to draw its information and instructions from a localized source. She attempted and failed to access any data about her other party members, but was able to source out a few files on herself. Unfortunately only a few were accessible.

The first held basic data, a digital registration card of sort, authorizing and confirming her allowed presence within the palace. The next few were locked out, and she didn't have the necessary understanding to take her search any further. She clicked through a few more files, unfortunately she found out nothing more and gave up on the search. Instead she began to concentrate on formulating a plan.

She dozed off leaning up against the round pallet she'd dubbed a bed. She awoke with a start and peered about the room with bleary eyes. Unsure of what had woken her, she stood and whirled around to search for the cause. Eventually she chalked it up to being in a strange place and returned to her plan.

At the end of the evening she had filled a handful of pages in a thick notebook. The first pages were filled with her frantic script as she'd rushed to document all of her initial ideas. As the page count grew her scrip relaxed from a tightly cramped scribble to wide flowing lines. Her plan stretched over 15 pages when all was completed. The ultimate goal of the plan was to secure her end of their original bargain, with the mechanism of her ultimate goal being to interweave herself into the fabric of the empire's political and manufacturing sectors, making herself irreplaceable. She was going to spread her talents around, show the true value of what an alliance with Chikyuu could provide.

Her first and second steps were to locate her party, and then to source out some less biased data for analysis. All the data they'd been offered leading up to the agreement had all been vetted, approved, and probably altered by the administration. She needed a true sense of what was really happening around her if she was to insert herself into this alien society, and to secure a place within it.

The windows had been dark when she'd returned from her frustrating encounter with the council. Now after all her planning moonlight peaked through the tall windows. Her stomach rumbled, and she felt cramped from sitting on the floor for so long. Since she'd woken up she'd been unsure how much time had passed. At best she only had the light from the windows to judge the passing of the day.

Deciding that exhaustion won over hunger, she crawled on top of the circular mattress and stretched out. She wished for blankets and pillows, one of her favorite comforts of home. Bulma drifted into an uneasy sleep, frequently tossing and turning, more so due to the discomfort of the hard mattress then anything else.

The Prince was stalking the halls, actively avoiding anyone associated with the administration. He could no longer find quiet in his own suites. His private training grounds, and any other place he used to be able to find peace from others unwilling to face is wrath were no longer protected by the fear of his sharp temper. Administrators and political agents were constantly hounding him. They'd become extremely bold in the recent weeks, unafraid to seek him out where previously they would have avoided. His attempts to reassert his dominance over his small private areas was a loosing battle. While he managed to keep a few away, they did not stay away, instead they found other ways to bother him; electronic reminders, notes, stacks of documents arrived daily to his private suites, and each day to arrived with stronger and stronger messages of importance, and timeliness.

This was going to have to end sooner rather then later. He had the aptitude for management, but no desire. It would kill him, slowly and painfully, a most unfitting and defiling death for a warrior, much less a prince.


	10. Chapter 9

October 8, 2009

Chapter 9

When he awoke the first thing he noticed was a semi-subtle throbbing over the back of his head. There was an incessant beeping sounding in his ears, it was growing in volume, or perhaps the throbbing was increasing in intensity. He couldn't be sure, he could barely be sure of anything any longer. Vegeta sat up and pressed his calloused palms into his eye sockets, and debated how to best escape his duties.

His temper had cost him, and cost him dearly. He was paying a price that he was unable to sustain. He was sleep deprived, and it only served to ramp up his irritability. He'd aged visibly, he carried a weight on his shoulders that he could not shove off.

There was a new noise now, a thumping, no a pounding. Before his mistake, he'd rarely slept in this room. Now he retreated to it, as it seemed to be the last place anyone was willing to venture. They would come to his outer chambers, but never to the inner ones. Although they'd been emboldened in recent days as he was almost reliably found there.

He wanted to leave, take up a conquest of some offworld planet. The training that'd been beaten into him as a child wouldn't let him, his pride held him back. It also kept him from admitting his mistake, even to himself, in all places but in sleep.

Bulma was standing in front of the bickering council again. She'd repeated this scene too many times. Each encounter played through the same, she'd arrive, they'd demean her previous demands, she would offer a alternatives in exchange for the same goal. They would have her removed from the chambers, and the following day, or possibly even later that day, it would start again.

She'd counted the days, it'd be 12 days since she'd woken up smelling of chemicals, and dressed inappropriately. She'd been granted communication privileges but no visitation. Her Interim Guard pissed her off more every day. He showed up twice a day with dishes piled inappropriately high with food. Sometimes he would return for her to walk her to the council chambers, and other times she'd spend long stretches alone in her room. It was making her antsy, she was angry, and frustrated.

According to the others from her party she was in a quarantine of sorts. The chambers they'd been taken to immediately after landing had been a decontamination procedure. Bulma however had reacted poorly to the vaccination process. She'd be separated for an unknown reason and placed within the inner palace, an area in which was not accessible to offworlders. The saiyajin had programmed their vaccination protocols to address their own common illnesses first, and had then moved onto the next most frequently encountered microbes, and diseases. Apparently the process had been designed and tailored specifically for their physiology. A reaction such as Bulma had was considered rare.

Even though Bulma herself could only acknowledge the passing of 12 days, she was informed that she'd been in treatment for her reaction for almost 4 weeks. Her brain quickly calculated that she had wasted a month and a half of her year long time here. There was still something deeply disturbing and uncomfortable about the missing time. It was something she would have to put on a brave face for, there was no time for anything but her goals.

A sweet brunette filled Bulma in on quite a few other details that'd been kept from her while she'd been on the Saiyajin side of things. Their ship was being repaired, but it was a slow and onerous task. The Chikyujin ship's technology was too alien it seemed, an irony that wasn't lost on anyone.

The group had been given plush quarters, and offered many culturally enriching opportunities. From Bulma's perspective their experience mirrored exactly what she'd been prepped for.

Her Interim Guard was at the door again, he stood without talking in her doorway. Bulma found this behavior increasingly disturbing. Unfortunately it seemed to be a cultural thing with the saiyajin, limited verbal communication, and an emphasis on body language.

She walked into the council chamber with a chip on her shoulder. She was fed up to be polite about it. She'd had enough time to source out her own data from the computer system. It painted a very painful picture the empire was crumbling. Its resources were inefficiently deployed, and almost depleated. From what she could gather there were mini pockets of semi-isolated uprisings on various small planets impacted the worst of the shortages.

The Empire had recently diverted the bulk of the produced resources from the planets under its control directly back to Vejitasei. Before, under the late King, only a portion of produced resources were diverted offworld, into trade relationships, and to other planets within the Empire. Bulma suspected the Council had made these changes. It was causing the shortages she'd identified and was possibly the underlying trigger in the revolts.

From what she could understand the Prince played a very limited role in directing how the Empire runs. At that point she'd run out of reasonably legitimate resources, everything else she could get her hands on read more like tabloids and hearsay.

The Council members seemed downright bored with her appearance. However, something further lurked beneath their expressions, she knew what was swimming beneath their uninterested grimaces. They wanted something from her. In her second visit to see the Council she'd picked up on a split within the group, some seemed more willing then others to discuss terms.

They started as they usually did, demanding that she submit Chikyuu technology to the Empire so that they may better evaluate it to make a proper decision. Bulma was no fool, they wanted everything they could get their hands on, they would attempt to reverse engineer whatever they were given. It they were successful they would have no reason to grant a equal partnership to a "backwater planet" such as hers.

Unwilling to engage them in conversation and tired of this useless banter she made her stand. "I have been here for over 1/12th of my allotted time here. I am no longer willing to negotiate. I have made our request clear, I have made you multiple offers to meet the needs outlined to us by your late King." She paused to gauge the reactions, there were almost no perceptible changes. "Your King gave his word, we had an agreement and you Sayajin who've built your Empire on your honor and military skill and prowess, do nothing but dishonor our agreement. You will not acknowledge the agreement, why? Are you not honorable enough? Are you too weak to protect my "backwater planet"? The councilmen were paying more apt attention now.

"Or could it be that there is something more?" She let her eyes slide around the room. "I've been doing my own research, your Empire is not nearly as prosperous as you've lead us to believe. You're diverting resources here to Vejitasei in alarming numbers, revolts and uprisings have begun on the poorer of planets. You can no longer sustain yourselves, you're Empire is crumbling" Tempers were flaring, the men were clenching their fists, and staring her down.

"I am offering you the technology to better address the needs of your people by optimizing your use of resources. Yet day after day you refuse to agree to the original terms of the agreement. Although you will not let us leave either! I am fully aware that your own technicians are unable to repair our ship, I believe the running joke is that our alien technology is too alien for your aliens."

"The final offer I am making is a request to have the original agreement honored, and I promise, I will use our technology to benefit your Empire as a whole. The alternatives are that you let us leave and we develop our own defenses, or we offer the same trade to the Cold Empire."

The Council was furious. Two of the members had jumped to their feet at her last statement. One was now inches from Bulma's face, he was seething with anger, she'd hit on something.

"There is nothing that would stop us from just taking what we want from you. You pose no threat to us, and therefore there is no reason for which we should make such and agreement. The old king was old, and feeble, no loner fit to rule the Empire, his agreement with you is void. We do not accept the terms of such an agreement, the Sayajin Empire would never lower itself to such a level." He spat out the words, contemptuous of her gull to utter her threats.

Bulma wiped the spittle off her cheek and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a capsule and held it towards the man. "You believe we're beneath you? You are so reliant upon the technology of others, others whom you intimidate and rule by fear, that you are blind to the weaknesses of what that means." She proffered the capsule to him, and he ignored it. She clicked the plunger and tossed it to the ground. It left a single remote, small enough to be concealed in her palm. "Perhaps a more practical demonstration would help wrap this up."

She picked up the remote and addressed the two members who had remained seated, "I would like you to use your Scouters. Tell me what they say about me." They hesitantly obeyed. "You are reliant upon these machines manufactured by us Chikyujin. What do they tell you? Do they tell you that I am weak, female, and pose no threat?" She pushed the first button. "How about now?" The men began to frantically click around, "Might you be seeing a power reading of someone who might be as strong as one of you? What about now, can you tell anything about me when your precious machines no longer feed you that vital data you rely so heavily on?" At the back of the room her eye caught a rustle of a curtain hem. Someone was behind the Council members.

"This is a prime example of how your Empire is constructed. You are built on the technology of others. You are a strong people, yet you place your trust in the fear you instill in others. How difficult would it be for a whole planet to turn against you? How difficult would it be for one planet to start manufacturing purposefully flawed goods?"

The curtain was pushed aside and down from dark staircase stepped who she could only assume to be the Prince. While she'd never encountered him directly, the upswept hair matched the grainy depiction she'd seen in the propaganda video back on the ship.

"We will adhere to most of the terms of the original agreement, however, we will amend the remaining terms." His voice was cultured; he didn't share the same guttural inflections as most of the Council men. It was almost as if he had a touch of an accent. He enunciated clearly, forming each word deliberately.

"And what will those amended terms be?" She was in her element now. Years of boardroom work, and negotiations had only slightly prepared her for this moment. She was negotiating for her whole planet, by herself, something she would have never voluntarily agreed to.

"I've read over your qualifications, and done some research into you." He was now only a few feet from her. She was taken aback by the smooth skin, and the definition his bone structure gave his face. "We'll amend the terms. As you've identified so…eloquently…we are dependent. With this agreement the Empire requires that our agreement be….monogamous…" He seemed unsure of his words, faltering and loosing his polished syntax.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

He was closer now and he took the bold step of touching her. His hand grasped her above the elbow and led her out of the room. He walked along with her back towards her room, then past her door, and further down the hallway, much further. She felt uncomfortable in the dark with him, the lighting down this hall was dim, and muted. The further they got from her room the thicker the dust on the floor. It crunched under her flats and twice made her slip. She stumbled blindly, and he held her arm patiently until she regained her stride. It was never a painful hold, just a constant one demonstrating his strength and directing her as they walked.

He let go of her arm as they stopped. They stood facing a thick ornate door, the light was too dim for her to make out anything beyond its shape and the fuzzy indications of ornamentation. He was fumbling with the door when she got her first real look at him. The Prince was classically handsome. He was taller then her, but not in such away that he towered above her as in the case of most other Saiyajin. She stopped staring and fixed her eyes on her hands, rubbing them over arms.

It seemed that the Sayajin didn't believe in heating or cooling systems. The palace was always too cool for her tastes. She constantly covered herself in multiple layers and long sleeved sweaters. It seemed cooler down here, lonesome under the thick layer of dust. Clearly this hallway was rarely used, forgotten at some point in the distant past. The door opened with a creak. The sudden movement kicked up the dust and it swirled in the air under yellow light.

He ushered her into the room and motioned her to a pair of armchairs. They sat and she let her eyes wander around the room. It was strangely devoid of dust. It looked like it'd been recently cleaned. The air smelt fresh, and there was a light breeze moving throughout the room. "We will amend the agreement to include an open term. I also want the scope of your responsibilities here to be expanded as needed. You are also to maintain an image and presence fitting of the Saiyajin, while advancing our goals and agendas, not your own." He seemed awkward under these circumstances, as if he was reining in some other overriding instinct. As he continued she could tell that he was more accustomed to barking orders, then negotiating with an equal.

"If I agree to your new terms, then I would like some of my own. I would like access to my people…please. I also want to discuss the marriage portion of our agreement." She kept her eyes downcast, negotiating ploy she'd used before. Bulma was more adept with men then women, and she was hoping to utilize that fact and experience to her advantage.

"No." He was curt, his face hardened when he spit out the word.

"No? Why not? If I remember correctly you were as much against this arrangement in the beginning as I am now." She accused him. He leaned back in his seat, ignoring her jibe. "You can interact with your people once you've completed the immunization process."

She was starting to seethe, her temper was rising, a struggle to contain it was beginning to erupt. He was purposefully avoiding the discussion. "Well? Why is this marriage such an integral part of this agreement? You're getting our technology, exclusively, and we're getting your protection under an _egalitarian_ partnership."

"The Sayajin Empire does _NOT _extend _egalitarian_ anything!" He spat, clearly his own temper had reached the breaking point. He was on his feet and in her face in moments, leaning in close enough for Bulma to feel his breath across her ear when he uttered the words, "this is the only option." He backed off immediately, perhaps conscious of his invasion of her space.

"The ONLY option? So you are allowing us to be your equals only by subjugating me through an archaic process in which no other world under your empire could possible experience? I'm not ignorant, I understand that your father created this…opportunity…this single opportunity because you frankly are desperate. The position, this queendom, which grants us our equal partnership is the only way that your father could, was created to get our technology for you, and exclude any other planet from receiving a similar deal. But, I don't want this! I will only agree to your new terms if you agree to remove this wedding from the deal!"

He was in her face again, "I don't relish the idea of being chained to some weak bodied disproportionate alien woman either!" He was spitting again and cornering her into the chair. Bulma lost her poise and shot up in her chair forcing the Prince to back peddle as she stood and drew herself up as tall as she could. "Then we keep the original agreement!"

"Fine!" He crossed his arms and glowered down at her, a trademark position that she'd develop a deep loathing for. "Fine, it's a deal!" She matched his pose. She was self satisfied, she'd gotten exactly what she'd wanted, and it'd only cost her a damp face.

They glared at each other for a full minute before they mutually broke off the stare war that would have inevitably end in a stalemate. He strode to the door, paused and gave her a sidelong glance before reaching to open it. The Prince stood impatiently at the door, waiting for her, the yellowed light from the room only served to enhance his bronzed skin, and highlight the rich brown of his eyes.

Together in a mock death march they returned to the council chambers and the Prince announced that a mutual accord had been reached. Amongst the dirty and shocked looks, Bulma managed to conceal her grin, she'd bested the Prince of a people who boasted superiority in military maneuvers. The Councilmen began to bicker, overstepping their boundaries, and arguing with the Prince. She could only watch from the sidelines as she was given a first hand view of what to expect for the remainder of her time on Vejitasei in matrimonial hell.

It took an inordinate amount of energy to return to her pattern of thinking that she'd arrived here with. When this whole process had been set in motion back home, she'd taught herself to treat this whole event and experience as one more social event, one more project, and one more trip to somewhere new. Since she'd arrived the alien-ness of her environment had been slowing building her panic and expectations. She'd worried constantly about the what-ifs and the potential fallout of the Empire not carrying through with their agreement.

Then after the agreement had been struck, and she'd started to develop this growing gnawing sensation in her stomach. It'd began as a tiny pang of nervousness the walk back to the council chamber, and grew over the next few weeks to a full blown weight and sapped her appetite and stole her energy. This arrangement no longer felt right, it'd lost the feeling of 'rightness' that'd she'd felt just after the deal had been struck. At first it'd felt like a triumph, that all the pieces had fallen into place. Now, there was something big on the horizon, bearing down, looming on the edges of her consciousness, and casting a thick black shadow over her future.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

October 25, 2009 – January 12, 2010

Everything had been set in motion the moment the Prince had made the announcement to the Council. There was a new sense of purpose flooding through the palace. More people now had daily business within the castle walls. There was a constant low hum of activity the permeated the halls. The temperature seemed to have increased, and the pace of life had picked up to a near frantic pace.

In an act of acceptance Bulma had pulled out her gown. It stood menacingly on a dummy bodice in the corner of her room. It haunted her in the middle of the night. The dress was a large princess cut gown, with a beaded corset bodice. She'd refused to wear white, it'd made the whole ceremony too real, and too close to something she was not prepared to address. So the dress had been cut and beaded in blue. While she'd pushed for black, no one was willing to help advance her macabre joke.

There was little in preparation available for her to occupy her mind with. She'd taken the opportunity to begin an exhaustive research program into her first assigned task; stretching a minute amount of vital regenerative materials used in Regenerative Tanks. She was in the initial stages of gathering data, garnering an understanding of the mechanics of the machine. Her brain had switched into a new mode, ignoring the looming gown; she delved into a machine whose technology could benefit Chilkyuu as well, once she'd solved the materials shortage problem. Bulma had taken her initial research of the tanks as far as possible surrounded by documents in her room. She needed a larger space, somewhere she could get her hands on a tank and truly dive into her work.

Her attempts to secure a workspace were an abysmal disaster in communication. Brushed off by every liaison assigned to her, and snubbed by the Council, she walked the maze of halls to the Prince's door, preparing for another awkward encounter in pseudo-negotiations. Guards stood outside the doors, flinching at a distant banging from behind the heavy doors. She could hear muffled voices briefly, and then more thumps and banging. The guards stood there, making no move to address the suspicious sounds. "What's happening in there?" She demanded, angrier at the inaction then the possibility that true harm could be occurring to the Prince behind the closed doors.

When they remained unwavering, she pressed her lips into a line of determination, dug her feet into the ground and pushed open the doors. The ease with which they swung forced her to throw off the extra energy in a stumble. Her timing couldn't have been better. Something heavy went sailing over her head, the force picked up her loose hair setting goose bumps aflame all over her scalp. She turned to see a man slump to the floor below a large impact crater. There was an angry whisper, and then she was being pulled up by the arm, it was a strong steady tug from the Prince.

"WHAT WAS _THAT_?" She gestured wildly behind her, wrenching her arm from his hand. "You have the gall to assign me this!" She shoved a portable computer tablet in his face, glowing with the schematics of a Regeneration tank, along side the vital chemical formulas. "Then I come here to see you doing that!" She whirled to point at the prone body in the hallway. "You are single handedly destroying yourselves. You ask for my help to solve your shortage, but you do nothing to curb the need you have for this chemical compound." She was infuriated with his carelessness. She threw her hands in the air. "Then do your job!" He roared.

"My job?" She shot back. "You're father created this alliance, the one everyone outside is pandering their souls for, so that your precious empire could stop crumbling into nothingness. We chose you for your morals, your deep-rooted sense of ethics. You stopped your empire from being overtaken by the Cold Family. Now _YOU_ need to pull it out of the decaying heap they pushed you to." She'd hit a nerve bringing up the events of the last decade.

He cringed ever so slightly and clenched his jaw harder. His fingers were working themselves in and out of tight fists. His temper was at the boiling point; he was barely keeping a lid on it. A glance into the hallway showed the body still slumped against the wall. He had showed restraint, the man was still alive, a true rarity after the deliverance of such poor news.

"I'm here to help you, not do it for you!" She was livid now, stepping closer to him then she'd ever been before. He sneered at her, crossing his arms. The pair engaged in a death-match stare down, neither willing to yield to the other. Bulma's computer began to beep, by the fourth tone; it was beeping in unison with something further in the room. It was an unspoken agreement that the stare-down was not over, just on hold as they both looked away.

Her computer chimed once again, with her attention no longer distracted she was able to acknowledge the particular sound. It indicated a second Chikyuu ship had entered into Sayajin space. Once an agreement had been reached, the second ship had been launched from her home world. It'd contained selected dignitaries and any additional supplies they initial party required. They would arrive in less then two weeks, and she had work to accomplish, important work. The reminder alarm triggered something in her mind; it pulled together floating pieces of a puzzle, slamming them together with growing speed. Frantically she began working through her computer in an effort to capture everything flying through her mind.

The Prince was still standing over her a few minutes later as she furiously tapped through screens on the computer. It took three throat clearings for her to acknowledge his presence, and even then she did nothing more then mumble an acknowledgement and wave him off with her free hand. "Onna" his voice took on the tone of a parent displeased with the inaction of a lagging child.

"Shh!" She hissed as she tried to remain focused on documenting the breakthrough forming in her mind. He stood stunned for a moment, no one ever ordered him to silence, much less waved him off with such indifference. He cleared his throat again and straightened his posture, and intimidation tactic that had served him well in the past. "Just wait, I've almost got it." She was tapping quicker now, albeit struggling with a single hand. "ONNA!"

Bulma was ignoring him now, fully engrossed in her work. Breakthroughs like this needed to be addressed immediately. Putting it off was a risk; she could easily loose the thread of ideas that brought on the enlightened moment. She couldn't type fast enough with one hand to keep up with the rush of ideas bubbling to the surface. The Prince took two stunned steps backwards when she without warning just sad on the ground. Her typing speed increased dramatically with access to her other hand.

She began to mumble to herself the semi-silent murmurs grew in intensity to a full-blown conversation with herself. "This might work, but it needs testing, and we need to improve on the power usage, we can do better with the mixture ratios, make it stronger. We need a recycler. What about better source materials? Can we manufacture these new chambers on site? What about usage? How do we control for usage?" Her mind was whirling on too may different options to focus on, her breakthrough was becoming a multi-dimensional explosion of ideas, there were too many. She could do little more then jot down the most superficial of points, her mind spinning too quickly for her to delve deeper and capture more substance.

"ONNA! Enough!" He broke through her trance this time. Her head snapped up and her blue eyes found his. "WHAT?!" Her temper flared and she forgot the restraint she'd been cultivating so carefully over the recent past. "Can't you see that I'm busy?" She thrust the computer screen towards him. "Why did you have to interrupt me? I was so close to finishing it. You wanted me to solve your Regeneration tank problem, and I have, here it is." She pushed the screen towards him again, "well, I think I have, in theory at least. I need to build a prototype, or examine an existing machine." She was getting giddy with the realization of her accomplishment.

"Which is why I came here in the first place, I need a workshop. I can only do so much theoretical work, I can only take that so far." She met his eyes again. "I've been to the council, and I've gone through the official channels, and gotten no results. I can't move this project forward without a lab or a workspace, and tools, and staff, and access to materials, and access to some of the restricted databases, and…and…and…" Her voice trailed off as she realized that she was becoming overexcited, and babbling.

From the moment she'd began thrusting the tablet towards him he'd been skeptical, her attitude had made more than a few 180 degree turns. His skepticism showed on his face in the form of a raised eyebrow. He kept his arms crossed tightly over his chest, she was puzzle that grew more and more complex with every interaction he had with her. When his father had first announced her, he'd expected nothing more then another addition to a well-rounded harem, a girl-woman, with nothing behind her eyes then a shallow desire to be envied for her looks, and power. Upon his first encounter he saw her as a focused, but shrieking harpy, singly focused with an over entitled sense of self. After he'd first seen her from behind the curtains in the Council Chambers he'd taken on the distasteful task of researching her.

The day he'd struck the agreement with her he'd held a higher opinion of her, she was educated, rounded in the ways of high society, she was vaguely attractive, from a distance. She'd stood up to him in that encounter, and that had remained with him the most. There had been no disappointment today; she rose to the occasion, calling him out on the management of the empire, daring to question him outright. Now he was confused by her behavior, she jumped from one idea to another with a speed that made him question her sanity. She was an odd one all right.

The Prince had sent her back to her room with an agreement to procure her all she'd asked for. He'd demanded results to show the Council 6 days after receiving her equipment. She suspected he was under pressure to prove the need for the alliance, and this was the best opportunity he'd been presented with to date. This it seemed was to be her proving grounds.

Guards had arrived to her door half a day later. The pair of burly men seemed unsure of what to make of her. They were new guards, two she'd never seen before. From their actions and facial expressions it seemed to Bulma that they were unaware of whom she was. They brought her through the palace, then once again down the long unending corridors she remembered from her first experience within the palace. They surfaced in a non-descript building, grey, and brightly lit. Through a set of doors they escorted her and then turn to take up sentry positions on either side of the doorway.

There were three Regeneration tanks lined up in a recess along one wall. Opposite stood a set of long metallic workbenches, one covered in tools. The Prince had met most of her request, she had no staff, but she could make due on her own at first. She actually preferred it that way, as she often outpaced staff, quickly becoming frustrating with their slow pace.

She worked through three guard changes, fueled completely by the excitement of once again having the opportunity to use her hands. The last time she'd had such a chance had been months before she'd left Chikyuu, it'd been sorely missed. A staff member appeared periodically with overfull plates of food. One particular staffer seemed very interested in the work she was doing. He was always casting furtive glances around the lab, watching her. Bulma just assumed he was curious about the ongoing work, and set aside his behavior as a natural curiosity. One morning he'd arrived before she had, he'd been fingering through the parts on her desk when the doors opened. Frightened he jumped and rushed past her out of the room.

The center tank was the most intact, the left being damaged beyond repair, and had been deemed a parts source. The right was somewhere between the rest, it sported damage from misuse, and shoddy repairs. She'd wanted to start working on the Regenerative Fluid, but she hadn't received her requested access to the secured database, or the materials she required. Instead she settled on improving the filtration, and scanning systems, her goal to improve the overall amount of time a subject had to spend in a tank. Her backup plan was develop a system for reusing and regenerating the Regeneration Fluid in its current form.

When she'd left her lab her eyes felt full of grit, her feet ached, her limbs hung lifeless at her side. Her mind however felt as sharp as it ever had. She was at home and in her element, it felt wonderful. The euphoria even succeeded at pushing away the dread that normally rose in her gut when she glanced at the gown. She was in a deep sleep the moment her body touched the mattress, swept away in sweet dreams of equations, and formulas.

The following morning the Curious Staffer brought the Chikyuu-jin her regular platter of food. On his way out, he stumbled and tripped. She rushed over to help him up. He seemed frightened, broke away from her hands and rushed out. She'd felt guilty over how he'd reacted, and vowed to make a better impression on the staff in the future. Putting it out of her mind she began bringing the central tank online to present her findings on time as requested.

Bulma was sitting on her workbench cross-legged picking at a platter of fruits and meats when the Prince strolled through the doors. The guards saluted and he waived them off. She set the tray down and hopped off the table. "Of the three machines you provided, and given the time table provided I was only able to make mechanical modifications. I need more time, and I still need access to both chemical materials, and the databases to work on the Regenerative Fluid." She pulled open the front hatch of the central machine; "I've increased the filtration capabilities by approximately 30%, and in conjunction with upgrades to the scanning mechanics. I've been able to improve overall performance by almost 72%. All that being said, the supplies of Regenerative Fluid are limited, and must only be used sparingly, and for good reason. You need to enact a policy to limit the uses of the machines for non-life threatening situations. If you look at this data here, it seems like the bulk of the usage are for what I would classify as minor injuries, nothing that would not heal on it own in a few days time, assuming I understand your physiology correctly."

She moved to her workbench and picked up her computer, she had the relevant data prepared for him to look over. She stopped mid-stride when her eye caught a rolling ball bearing, large, almost 3 inches in diameter. Mesmerized she stared as it rolled, seemingly under its own power towards her feet. The Prince turned his head to see what had caught her attention so vividly. He acknowledged the device too late to act. A thick spray of white fluid emerged from one side of the ball. It landed on the Chikyuu-jin's left side, coating her thigh the heaviest, spray landed on her calf and halfway up her torso, the device was still spraying when the Prince reached out and pushed her to the side with his arm, catching some of the spray himself.

Bulma had very little recollection of what occurred in the moments after she watched her body become soaked by the strange material. The next registered input was screaming, it was coming from nearby, a loud, piercing cry. She recognized it as her own, and couldn't get a grasp on why it was coming out of her mouth. Her lungs exhausted their oxygen supply and the scream was cut off, her head lolled downwards and she glimpsed the cause of alarm; her flesh was dissolving under the hungry movement of a bubbling pink foam. Her awareness of injury brought waves of unbearable pain, she could feel herself being eaten alive, painfully, and quickly by what she would later classify as an acid.

The Prince acted as quickly as he could, ignoring his own injury. He'd witnessed this horrible device once before, he only had minutes to act before the Chikyuu-jin expired from her wounds. He put his faith in her rebuilt machine as he pulled off her acid-eaten clothing; he ripped off his own eaten sleeve and squeezed the pair of them into the single seat of the chamber. He hit the internal controls slamming the buttons. She was no longer screaming, but now withering in his lap. The acid had eaten through a good portion of her muscle layer in her thigh. He could only hope that the Regenerative Fluid could fill the tank before the acid could eat down to her bones. The fluid was cold, and it seeped over the tops of his boots chilling his feet. It rose over his thighs and covered her damaged calf. The murky green-blue fluid rose in the tank slowly and eventually stopped just beneath his neck and below her collarbones. Something was wrong, the tank was supposed to have filled completely, immerging both occupants in the soothing mixture.

She'd passed out, her head resting on his shoulder, and her body slung over his lap. He held his arm up the straight of her back supporting her against him. Her long hair floated buoyantly on surface covering any snatches of nudity the Prince could have caught by staring down. As time passed the water became a thick brown-green. Stripes of flesh bobbed to the surface for a few moments before the filtration kicked in, they were gradually replaced with bubbles. The filtration system pulled the blood and acid from the water, leaving the two of them in an awkward proximity.

She woke with a start sending water splashing into his face. He'd fallen asleep himself. Bulma's first reaction was panic, she began to thrash, kicking weakly with her good leg, and struggling against the confinement of her torso. "Stop, Stop! STOP!" The Prince hissed at her, tilting his head upwards to stay out of the bulk of the splashes. He pulled his free hand above the water and grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him. "Stop thrashing" he growled.

"I…I can't feel anything on my side" she was beginning to hyperventilate. "It's the tank, it's numbed your injuries." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Bulma watched him for a moment, "I guess I should thank you for this, it was very…kind of you." When he didn't move, or respond she suddenly become aware of how close she was to a man she not only barely knew, but was a reputed murderer the galaxy over.

An awkwardness had invaded the tiny bubble of air Bulma and the Prince shared. The machine bubbled in the background with meticulous precision. She had no sense of the

She had no sense of time. The numbness in her limbs was creeping through the rest of her body. Goosebumps were running rampant on her skin, appearing and vanishing in painful mini waves. Her mind began to wander slipping and sliding into a euphoric hallucination or two. Bulma's last memory in the tank reminded her of a childhood fantasy, a mermaid princess wishing for legs and dreaming of a prince in armor.

There is something impossibly awkward about waking up in your own bed naked with no memories about arriving in such a state. Someone had covered her with a short blanket. Her hair stunk again of chemicals, just as it had when she'd first arrived.

Waking faster now her mind played connect the dots with the events from her lab. Her mind was protecting itself, cleverly blocking out many of the horrifying images of having it's own flesh dissolved from the bone. The close encounter memories of sitting in the lap of the prince remained mostly intact, surrounded by fuzzy edges and strange ideas of mermaids, legs, and fictional princes in shining armor.

She laid in bed still falling in an out of the last of her chemical coma. She dreamed and imagined about the whys and what's of the gravity of the situation. What did her body look like underneath the red blanket? Was she disfigured and wretched? Then came the paranoid thoughts, was the blanket red to hide the blood? Who'd moved her, why was she alone, and in her room, not in a hospital? The panic woke her fully, immediately shoving her into alertness.

She forced herself to pull back the blanket over her leg. It was her leg, just as she'd always remembered it, with the addition of a red line. It appeared to be an angrier red in some places. It marked the boundary of her experience. She could live with a fierce red line; if that was her only memento then she counted herself lucky.

She swung her legs off the side of the mattress and stared at her feet, appreciating each and every toe. The scar from a childhood encounter at the beach was gone. She stared at the smooth skin puzzled; trying to remember if it'd faded naturally. I'd been a long time since she'd connected with herself and spent time alone contemplating her body. A shower called, something hot, hard, and tempered with soap and scrubs.

Stumbling was the best descriptor of the motions she made moving from the bed to the bathroom doorway. Her right leg seemed to have lost the ability to converse with her brain, engage her muscles, and take orders from her mind. Her mind had already compartmentalized the fear and anxiety, replacing it with a to do list beginning with a physician consultation.

There was something normal about sitting under the hot water, yet it was an all-together novel experience. Inside the redline boundary the skin danced with sensations. Bulma hypothesized that the tank had regenerated her flesh, yet was unable to provide her with the same level of desensitization that years of physical movement could. She thought to herself as she traced the line lightly that she'd be ok, eventually. Back to her old self, long legs, toned muscles, disproportionate chest, and classic face. The realization ate away at the fear and anxiety hiding behind her anatomical knowledge.

Eventually she'd dressed and struggled back to bed. Everywhere within the boundary felt exhausted. Nothing held greater appeal then a nap. While she still longed for a proper pillow and linen set, she was more then happy to make due with the short red blanket.

It smelt heady and masculine when she pulled it up to her chin. Forgetting it's short stature, a struggle ensued to fit herself under it all. Diagonally seemed best, however there was something scratching her bare calf. The scratchy surface turned out to be the backside of an embroidered emblem, a familiar one at that. As she fell back asleep she smiled slightly, the prince was not as cold as she had previously been led to believe.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

She was awake, debating on the best path to the wall communicator, when someone knocked on her door. The face was place-able, but not recognizable, someone from the expedition of humans who'd accompanied her here. He sat in an armchair at the foot of the bed she didn't recognize.

He was a nice older gentleman who identified himself as a doctor. He'd come straight from a briefing with palace physicians, who'd pulled him out of bed with startling news. He babbled a touch a he spoke with her, explaining and translating for her the extent of her injuries and her incredible luck to have survived such a terrible lab accident.

It was a confusing conversation, David as it turned out his name was, was under the impression that a lab assistant had spilt an acidic compound in the lab, on themselves, and Bulma, causing the injuries. Bulma was credited as having pulled herself into the Regeneration Tank and starting the machine up. A guard at post change had found her and alerted the on staff medical team for help.

Nothing was lining up. Although there was something so polished about his version it threw up a flag. She opted just to nod and accept his story for the time being.

"Unfortunately as a result of your second time around in the Healing Chamber, the vaccinations that you, and all of us, received at our arrival have essentially been washed out of your system. Not that they'd taken too well with you in the first place." He chuckled nervously, the quieted at her blank expression. "You know, when we first arrived, and you had a reaction…" he prodded. She shook her head, and he launched into the history of her first encounter with a Regeneration Tank.

David finished his re-telling of the story with a smile. He stood and walked to the side of the bed, and put his hand out to shake. "It was very nice to meet you Ms. Briefs. I hope to see you again, in better condition." She took his hand and detected a slight accent in his parting comments.

The machine had reversed her partial immunity granted by her botched vaccinations upon her arrival. She was now confined to the inner portions of the palace until a solution could be discovered. A strict rehabilitation regiment would be presented to her once she felt up to receiving additional guests.

Bulma spent the next two days in her room, she was sulking and it wasn't a pretty sight. The looming black shadow had progressed further, it now hung over her depressing her. She was confined in her room, guards now stood outside her door giving her the impression of imprisonment. On the second day she struggled to sit through a dull and tediously presented rehabilitation lecture. It pushed the idea of her confinement to a brand-new level.

Essentially she'd avoided any lasting damage by getting into the Regeneration Tank. Although when this ingenious bit of medical technology had healed her it had tricked her body into regenerating all of the damaged tissues. It was like the machine had hit the reset button on the portions of her body eaten away by the acid. This explained why her beach scar had vanished. She would experience muscle fatigue for the next month or so they'd estimated. To her body everything was back in place, but the regenerated portions were so new, they had to re-learn again how to interact. This showed when she ran her fingers over the border of the red line, the old side felt perfectly normal, the new side was extremely tender, unaccustomed to receiving sensory inputs. She was told the red scar bordering her injuries would fade too, but would take much longer; the machine hadn't yet perfected connecting damaged free edges to new tissue.

She was given a collection of pills, to be taken only for short periods of time; they were intended to be used for public appearances. The medication would allow her to make brief appearances without giving any sign of weakness due to injury. To appear weak in the Saiya-jin culture would undermine some of the fundamental goals of her upcoming nuptials. She was directed to try them out in the coming week to ensure she would be able to perform her duties. Bulma was wary of the medication, but accepted it unsure of how its use would fit in with the ceremony.

On the third day she'd dressed, and demanded to speak with the Prince. Her room was closing in on her and it was time to return to business. She had many unanswered questions, and the first line of inquiry began with the folded red cape on her bed. In her lap sat the box of pills as she debated trying one out. Pharmacopeia was drastically different then it was at home. The pills were no more then thin translucent purple wafers. It melted on her tongue and left a cold tingle where she'd first placed it.

The medication worked quickly. She could feel nothing different about one moment to the next, no indications as to when it would take effect. Tentatively Bulma stood, it felt shaky, but nowhere near the degree of uncoordination she'd displayed earlier. The second step was firm, just as she'd remembered it. The marvels of this medication seemed to be unending.

Bulma argued with her guard when she tried to leave. The paid of them were under orders not to let anyone in. She tried to convince them that their orders didn't apply to letting her out. It was a weak argument and was forced to settle instead; she would have to remain in her room, but they would call anyone she'd requested. "The Prince, call him" Bulma cocked her head to the side and crossed her arms enjoying watching the barest of flinches as they comprehended her request. The pair of guards nodded, an indication she should follow them.

They walked in a single file down the halls, one guard ahead and the other behind. They walked taller, and seemed more anxious then any guards she'd had in the past. There was tension in air, what had changed so much in the last three days? The path they took was different, it was far more secluded, no, it was abandoned. The door they arrived at wasn't the same door she'd visited before, it blended in perfectly with the wall, nary a feature to define it as door. She balked when it opened, where they leading her somewhere other then to the Prince? Her fingers squeezed the material tighter, as if it was a protective talisman.

Behind the door was a different room, she'd never been in here. It was richly decorated, but lacked any of the ornate accessories she'd seen in other rooms. She'd barely registered much more of her surroundings when she focused on the Prince sitting in an arm chair, he motioned at the guards and they left the pair alone.

Bulma stood clutching the folded cape, waiting for the Prince to address her. When they stood in silence for longer then awkwardness allowed she stepped forwards to hand the cape back to him. "I wanted to return this to you, and to thank you again." She held out the cape for him to take. He attempted snatched it from her hand, although not quite fast enough for Bulma to avoid seeing a similar red scar peeking out from under his sleeve. She held on to the fabric, forcing him to keep his arm extended briefly.

"What really happened? Why am I being told something different?" She crossed her arms and watched his face carefully. He was unreadable, a perfect mask.

"It was an attempt, the second, on you. We're unsure of the origin, but suspect the Cold Empire has inserted spies to observe, and address the progression of this. My father suspected spies long before you arrived; we believe that they feel you are more of a threat then originally perceived and are now taking action against you." He leaned forwards in his chair.

"We will start the Campaign tomorrow, you were properly instructed?" He referred to the tradition of garnering the support of the army, and populace before a marriage, one of the pillars of society. The beginning of the Campaign signified the start of what equated to a month-long ceremony culminating in the crowing of a King, and in this rare occasion, the taking of a Queen.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Bulma struggled to stay awake in the early pre-dawn hours as she sat motionless in a chair. Her room was full of people, each bustling to get her dressed, and prepped to make a grand entrance at dawn. She'd forgotten how long she'd been propping herself up in the chair, time was only punctuated by the tug of her hair, or someone requesting her to contort her face for make-up.

Her hair was exquisite; her eyes had never quite popped like this; and all she could think of was her stomach. It grumbled begrudgingly at the early hour, it raged for food. She'd never been quite as hungry as she had since arriving planet-side. Begging for a 10 minute break to eat the make-up artist turned her attention elsewhere, and began powering her neck shoulders, squeezing in with the hair stylist behind the chair.

With a full stomach and a wafer pill dissolving on her tongue Bulma was prepared to dress, and get a start on the day. Her stylists graciously helped her into a light gown. They'd been surprisingly flexible with her wardrobe when the angry red line was found to be visible through nylons. It was a throwback style she was told, a combination of both worlds' fashion elements. They'd crafted the gown to reflect more Saiya-jin tastes, but it was still worn like an earth dress.

The bodice was fitted, but not structured, with long sleeves, and modest neckline, all reflecting Saiyan styles. It flared slightly over the hips into an a-line skirt, accentuating her figure. The one thing Bulma hated about the gown was that it was white; virginal, and plain. The stylists dressed it up with diamond-like jewelry, large square cut stones mounted in antique brass around her neck, small studs in her lobes, and pins on either side of her head. It was a classic look, tasteful, and flattering. Foregoing the high heels, she pushed her feet into flats, in time for her escort to arrive.

Again the guards walked with her sandwiched in between. She walked slower this time, attempting to cage her frantic heart. This was her last opportunity to call this sham marriage off her brain offered. Bulma took one final deep breath, found the persona she'd crafted just for public appearances. Her mask slipped into place and she left her guards at the entrance of a short hallway to step along side the Prince.

Side by side they walked through the hall and onto a balcony into the mornings first light. The jewelry captured the light and reflected it back in stunning brilliance, emphasizing the alien beauty Bulma Briefs portrayed. The couple turned, and faced each other for the first time. Her breath hitched in her throat, the Prince was nothing short of god-like. The warm golden rays of the sun touched his perfect skin in a caress, highlighting his smooth skin, and strong jaw line.

They stood watching each other for a moment longer then necessary, their eyes met, and Bulma smiled at him. The looming darkness pushed back briefly in the morning light. She felt him reach out and grasp her hand. She squeezed it unconsciously feeling the strength behind the fingertips. Together they put their grasped hands above their heads and the air filled with a roaring of voices.

Bulma was able to look past the oncoming light for the first time. The sun had risen higher into the sky, had they been staring at each other for that long? She felt a blush creep into her cheeks, and smiled wider. The crowd died down and still hand in hand they stepped forwards once more. The sun had blinded her; she wasn't on a balcony, but a landing with a staircase ahead. Together they descended to a second landing, coming to stand before a tall man, he gestured to seats placed on either side of the stairway. "We Begin!" He spoke, and the crowd erupted again.

From her chair she had a stunning view of the area. It was the same space she'd observed in the propaganda video on her way to Vejita-sei. The large stadium boasted a circular design, with many stories to allow seating for thousands of spectators. She could pick out a few aliens amongst the crowd, but always segregated from Saiyans.

Her was view poor, and she couldn't make out anything on the arena floor. When three moving forms appeared, it was difficult to discern between them. She looked to the Prince who was watching the forms intently. Clearly his distance vision was much better then hers. The man who'd spoke originally was descending the staircase towards the lowest level of Arena seating, and a large balcony. It no doubt offered the best view of what was to come.

The man addressed the crowd again, "our Prince has shown his ability in battle, the King has been defeated." The crown roared, the sea of spectators vibrating and gyrating. "He has taken his place as heir to the throne, and now must hold it." The crowd worked itself up into new levels; the sea was withering now, putting off a growing restless energy. Bulma had understood what was expected of her, but had never imagined the scale of which this Campaign would achieve.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched the Prince move to stand. He was watching her in the same manner. They came together again at the top of the stairs. This time they didn't join, but began the walk down the stairs towards the balcony. The sides of the stairs were lined with older Saiyans, those lucky enough to have been issued a seat.

They turned to stare at Bulma, different then how she'd been regarded in the past. A whole people were drinking in the sight of a stunning alien woman, becoming captivated with her beauty rather then her unworldlyness. She smiled as she walked, an opposite to the stiff emotionless expression of the Prince. On the last step to the balcony she stumbled, humiliating, and awkwardly. The crowd, silent again, had leaned forwards watching intently. Her husband to be caught her elbow enough to halt her from spoiling the moment further. She flashed him a small thank you smile without considering. When the footage would be replayed Bulma would always know that it was the same intimate smile she reserved for lovers and confidents.

On the balcony they stood before the man once more. "Prince Vegeta, we the Saiya-jin challenge you to prove your leadership. We offer our four best 1st Class Warriors."

"General T'So, I accept." The Prince nodded, dropped his grasp on the Chikyuu-jin's arm, and stepped away from her. Together both General T'So and the Prince jumped down to the Arena floor. The three-story drop fazed no one familiar with the ceremony.

She stood at the edge looking down; this was the critical portion of the Campaign. The incumbent, Vegeta, was required to beat each of his four challengers in hand-to-hand combat. The rules were simple, yet complex to execute. Each defeat must be honorable, and each combatant would use one of the four schools of fighting technique developed on the planet. Should the Prince successfully beat each challenger honorably, then he would garner the support of that particular school of combat. The four challengers were welcomed, invited even, to fight dirty, underhanded, and use questionable techniques. Success was measured by the speed within which the incumbent defeats his opponents, and his ability to do so honorably.

Gigantic holographic screens were set up in the center of the arena projecting the battle below. The crowd was swaying again, fists pumping, battle yells, and screams of a profane nature filled the silence. They cheered, jeered, and called for the battle to begin. It started quickly, the four opponents lined up in a square all taking stances. Vegeta wasted no time, he rushed through the square diagonally, removing two competitors instantly. The spectator sea erupted, the cheering overpowering any other sounds.

Bulma leaned forwards over the balcony's edge squinting to make out the battle. She flashed back to fond memories of watching Goku spar, she'd never been able to discern what was happening behind the blurs of colours, grunts, and attack cries. This felt more visceral, angrier, and the spirit of competition was not friendly. She tried watching the holographic screens, but found they did nothing but enlarge the rushing blurs of attacks and defenses. Twice she was able to make out the progress, albeit briefly her eyes couldn't keep up with the speed of their movements.

The remaining two challengers fell, one by one. All four where declared to have been beaten honorably. General T'So announced his Commitment to Vegeta's campaign for the crown, and the three opponents pledged their alliance as well. Vegeta stood in the center of the arena, encircled by his beaten challengers. The crowd erupted in cheers, they were screaming their appreciation now; the sea was vibrating with energy. The chanting began shortly thereafter.

The Prince vaulted from the arena, an incredulous jump, to land on the balcony once more. The crowd's volume grew to an uncomfortable level. Bulma's ears ached. General T'So returned and knelt at their feet. He offered his personal pledge to both of them. She smiled and graciously accepted his pledge before the incumbent King spoke a word. There was silence, and it rippled through the crowd. The sudden quiet prompted her to realize she had miss-stepped, she'd stumbled and spoken out of turn, inappropriate and considered to be highly offensive. Her stomach plummeted and the blood was draining from her face. The whispers began, although there was nothing quiet or discreet about the hissing. Bulma was lost, unsure of the nature of her gaffe.

The General's eyes flitted from future Queen to future King; he was judging the fall-out. The Prince crossed his arms and stated clearly, "_We_ do accept your pledge." He'd repeated most of her words, acting quickly to smooth over the social miss-step. The crowd returned to his roaring cheers of satisfaction, placated by his words.

They turned, grasped hands once more and began the long walk back upwards to the palace entrance. She'd lost her brilliance, she still smiled, but it wasn't the same full smile that reached her eyes. It'd hurt her pride. He prickled when she'd slowed her pace ascending, worried she'd stumble a third time in this vital ceremony. His face never betrayed his annoyance, yet she could understand that it was bubbling under the surface. She was well aware of his temper, and had no illusions that he would check it on her account.

They came to stand on the first balcony, again facing the crowd. The sun had moved higher in the sky, indicating it was still early morning. They duplicated their entrance, raised their entwined hands to the crowd, and then separately walked through the hall back into the cool palace. As soon as they were out of view and earshot she apologized for her errors, and tried to thank him again for saving her on the steps. He dropped her hand and walked away. She stood in the empty corridor cowed, and alone. "This is what you signed up for, and you knew it" her brain reminded her.

The two guards were waiting dutifully for her, along with one of her own party. The woman looked anxious. She extended a tablet to Bulma immediately, there have been some changes to today's schedule, and here is how we'll cope. They conspired together as they walked back to Bulma's room. Time was in short supply today.

The future queen was not even close to being ready to appear as one of the two guests on honor to the meal that followed the Campaign. As guests filled a reception hall, the food filled the air with tantalizing scents. Bulma and her stylists were struggling to get her out of the white gown. It'd been made with fabrics provided by the Saiyajin. It was practically indestructible. The zipper had seized and no amount of effort was getting it to move. Even attempting to cut her out was failing, scissors dulled instantly, unable to gain traction. Finally Bulma decided that she would just wiggle out of it. Two stylists helped pull the gown up and over her hair. They were quite the sight, even more so when the gown snagged and Bulma stood awkwardly in her lingerie with a dress around her neck and stylists picking at her hair to untangle the offending hair.

Time had run out long ago by the time the dress was freed. Her hair was ruined, and some of her make-up had smudged. They did the only thing they could think of; they left her hair down in tight tiny curls, cleaned off the foundation and powders leaving just her eye make-up and her natural glow. She wiggled into a second gown, this time an hourglass shape. It hugged her chest, emphasizing her fortunes, highlighted her slim hips, and gave her a more relaxed air. The gown was sleeveless, and backless, a much more liberal choice then her previous attire. She hiked up her gown and ran as fast as she could to the hall. Taking only a few moments to straighten and compose herself before making her entrance with a box and sphere in hand.

The faces that greeted her in the room were grim. The Prince sat at the high point of a u-shaped table, looking politely bored. The guests turned to watch her late entry. Within the arms of the U-shaped table sat many circular smaller tables. She sauntered to the center one, and flashed her dazzling smile to the aging men. They exchanged a few words and she placed a small sphere in the center of the table, thanking the men with more smiles. They rewarded her with appreciating looks, although none too appreciating aware of their proximity to the increasingly temperamental Prince.

With a slight sway in her hips she made her way to the head of the table. The Prince just watched her. "Everyone, if I could take just one more moment of your time. I sincerely apologize for my delay. I would like to present to you a gift from the people Chikyuu. What I've placed there is what we call a PLVD, Personal Live Video Device. I'd like all of you to be the first to partake in this technology. First though, please lets begin this meal." The room was instantly filled with the sound of dishes and eating.

Discreetly she pushed a small remote starting the PLVD. It sprang to life, projecting a 3-D image above the tables; it was the Arena floor. Three men came into view, three of the competitors from earlier. Around the room silence began to creep in. Each individual was transfixed on the exotic projected display. The battle was replaying in vivid detail, offered from the most unique viewpoint. When the video ended the room filled with excited chatter. Each had experienced a similar view, a perfect three-dimensional recording of Vegeta's Campaign bid. No technology currently existed that allowed anyone a 3-D experience quite like this. Viewers could walk around, above, or below the image and see the battle from any angle. The colours were rich and true, giving each projection a very believable image. The discussion remained firmly on the PLVD for the remainder of the first meal.

Bulma watched Vegeta out of the corner of her eye, attempting to gauge his reaction to her gift. He remained stoic and unamused. She was sad that she could seem to do no right by him. She left the small box on the table between them, skipping over her plan to gift its contents to them. Nothing positive could come from forcing the situation, and it could wait.

When the second course came out, Bulma still thought of them as meals due to their size, the conversation had changed, discussion ensued about Vegeta's military exploits, and warrior prowess. The crowd was looking to curry favor with their soon to be regent. He looked even more bored, choosing to focus instead on the meal then joining in.

Bored of his sulking she turned and addressed General T'So who sat to her right. She tried to strike up any sort of conversation with him. He refused to cooperate, answering her only in short curt sentences, the bare minimum to still remain courteous. Far off a gong warbled. A mid-day break, or in Bulma's case, a chance for a much needed catnap.

The 36-hour long days were difficult to acclimate to. Part of her solution was to sneak in frequent naps. When the mid-day bell sounded, it signaled that 9 hours had passed since dawn, and over 16 hours since she'd woken to dress and prepare. She had another nine hours to herself before the late day meal and the second portion of her pending nuptials.

A hot soak in the bath, and a nap were top of her agenda when she returned back to her room. She made it as far as getting undressed before being interrupted. She tossed on a t-shirt and sweat pants to answer the door. He was standing outside of the door looking as perturbed as usual. He stalked in and left her to close the door.

"THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE!" He roared at her and tossed the PLVD at the blue gown in the corner. It made a satisfying thunk and fell apart into two pieces, one on the floor, and the other caught in the beading of the dress. She crossed her arms and made eye contract; a signal that she was not willing to back down.

"Shame on you! You're nothing more then a petulant child, angry that he's been upstaged. For everything that you have, you waste it all needlessly. I gave you the perfect opportunity to address you people, show them why this alliance" she gestured to the pair of them, "will work. Instead you sat there and snubbed me. There is nothing stopping me from picking up right now and returning home. If you can't see past your own immediate needs then lets call this what it is, a failure!" She was done, this wasn't worth fighting for, none of it was.

She'd set him off, the rage seethed under his skin. "Failure? The only failure here is you! My Father was embracing senility when he set this in motion. There is nothing you can offer us but trinkets and toys!"

"Trinkets? TOYS?" She gave in and let it out. "Are your Scouters toys? What about you Regeration Tanks? The agricultural techniques? The hundreds of other pieces of daily technology we've improved for you? None of these advancements would even be possible without us, without me. I spent almost a year preparing for this, and you disappoint. The great mighty Saiya-jin are nothing more then childish bullies. I see no benefit in continuing our Agreement, I have no doubt that we made the wrong choice."

He shut his mouth, turned and wretched open the door. It creaked on its hidden hinges. "And for the record you're supposed to pull out a chair for a lady!" She couldn't avoid the last jab, it'd just slipped in. She cringed has he tensed, his tail bristled, and he hesitated. He turned and hissed at her "you're anything but a lady!" The door slammed before she could retort.

Alone again her lip began to quiver, she bit it. She'd been rash, and let her temper get the better of her. She'd ruined a rocky, yet budding relationship with her best choice for protection, and trade. Dejected she stripped off her clothes, pinned her hair up and climbed in the large sunken pool that passed for a bath. She needed to think.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Still angry with herself she decided to end this. She was going to swallow her pride, get out of the tub, get dressed and go make her apologies. She moved to stand on the ledge she sat on, the weighlessness of the water made her movements swift and precise. When she moved to stand however, she fell backwards into the large basin, soaking her hair. The mini translator inserted in her ear crackled, it was also ruined. Epithets streamed from her mouth when she broke the surface. More followed when she spotted the box of waffer medication across the room at her dressing table, a sigh of annoyance followed.

Getting over the edge of the pool was difficult, lowering herself down to the floor, even more so. Eventually managing to reach the wafers she surveyed the destruction as it melted. Water covered the floor, and the few towels she had in her possession weren't enough to sop up the mess. This was turning into one big clusterfuck.

The clock begged her to get dressed quickly and go apologize to the Prince for her outburst. She styled her hair quickly, forced to settle for a pulled back style to cover the destroyed curls. The diamond hair pins were lost, probably at the bottom of the pool. She made a mental note to go look for them when she returned to her room. They'd been a gift from her mother, something new she'd pronounced. In the end she looked just as she had at the morning meals, polished and proper.

The Audry Hepburn styled beehive hid the disaster the bath had made of her hair. Instead she wore the same large square diamond-like necklace from that morning to help re-direct the attention from her hair. She felt more like herself again after dressing. Help was nice once and awhile, but sometimes it just became exhausting.

She pulled open the door to yet again find him darkening her doorstep. Her hackles raised and a sour expression marred her face. She was still mad. He said nothing, just eyed her, she'd caught him off guard. She pushed all her anger down, "please, come in, I'd like to apologize for earlier." She stepped back offering him a pathway in.

He ignored her, crossed his arms, and proffered a tablet to her. She skimmed the screen; it was his private tablet. "Its locked" she pronounced and handed it back to him. He pressed his thumb onto the corner, unlocking the machine before passing it back. A video file loaded and she did a double take. Her father's face appeared on the screen. He sent his apologies to Vegeta for inconvenience of having to play messenger. He seemed frazzled, and appeared to be purposefully vague. He stated that both her parents had left Chikyuu for what they'd termed an extended vacation, and offered to include her in their next beach trip.

The beach comment sent up a flag. Getting away to the beach was their family's code for letting each other know something was amiss. She played back the message four times looking for more clues. Nothing came to mind. She sighed and handed the tablet back to the Prince. "Thank you. I know you didn't have to bring this to me. How did you get this?"

His response came to her as an exotic shock, gutteral, with rolling Rs, and many ch and ik sounds. It reminded her of a cross between Russian and German, but more elegant. She made a confused face, and rushed to find a replacement translator, the replacement wasn't properly tuned, but it got the job done. The small piece of equipment sat just behind her tragus, it was essentially invisible.

"My Father corresponded extensively with your father." He seemed hesitant to volunteer any additional information. He glanced at the tablet, "when this icon lights, press it. It'll put you in direct contact on a secured channel." His tone has softened considerably since he'd stormed her room the first time. "What if it locks?" She asked. He tapped through additional screens, and pressed his thumb to the corner, and then proffered it to her, indicating she should do the same.

The tablet beeped, it didn't like her fingerprint. She tried again, and again, still receiving the symbols for error. "Ugh, technology is all the same, never works right when you really need it." For someone with her genius abilities technology really annoyed her sometimes. He reached forwards and snatched her hand, cautiously. He rolled her thumb over the designated space, holding it a little longer then necessary once the print had been accepted.

"Thank you." Her lips curved briefly into a small smile.

The prince nodded, tucked the tablet under his arm and turned to leave. The door closed before Bulma could find her voice or make a move. The entire interaction had been unexpected and befuddling. She couldn't spend anymore time preparing, the second stage of her sham wedding was about to begin. Essentially she was being called upon to justify her ability to rule, much like the Prince's physical challenge, hers was to be a strategic challenge. The ability to rule in the Sayajin culture is not inherited only through blood, or title, but also rested on the incumbent's ability to maintain relations with other clans, but also to retain the confidence of the military and of the people. While one could be born into a title, one could not rule without the support of the people.

When she left her room the guards outside her doorway were more attentive to her presence then they'd been in the past, almost downright respectful. Things were changing already.

The guards followed her dutifully, almost respectfully, as she wandered through the halls, and passages, and into the large public receiving rooms. She was feeling aimless in her wanderings. She passed through room after room, stopping to take in the artwork and decorations. For a people that placed such a grand emphasis on their warrior history, it was difficult for an outsider to understand the rich, colourful and diverse history of the Sayajin people. Bulma was an outsider, and she'd entered further into this unique culture then ever could have been expected.

She'd lost her interest in exploring, and now she just felt a general sense of malaise. Wandering with two guards in tow felt more as if she was being babysat then protected. Hall after hall, corridor upon corridor, they all seemed the same. She glanced at her watch, pausing upon the realization that it was useless here, nothing more then another fashion accessory. The thought made her sad, and reminiscent; she was homesick.

Ambivalent wandering had lost its thrill, she decided to return to her room. Her guards trailed behind her, never once leading as they had in the past. Bulma was sure this was just the first change of many she could expect. At first the guards had treated her as if she was beneath them in their own internal cultural ranking system. They'd always been respectful of her, however she was an outsider when she'd first arrived. Now, things were changing, and while the differences were subtle so far, she was curious as to how she, the outsider, would find her place in a culture that sheltered itself heavily from all outsiders.

Bulma was startled when one guard spoke. He seemed to struggle for her title, she was not a Princess, she was not yet Queen, yet she was not a warrior, a bureaucrat, or slave, she did not quite fit into the social structures he was familiar with. He was unsure how to address her formally and instead attached the word Sir to his statement, "the Prince, he will meet with you." She nodded, and gestured for him to lead the way.

The guards directed her through the palace, constantly remaining behind her as their customs dictated. They rushed ahead briefly to open a large heavy and ornate door. It was clearly very old, worn smooth in places, but it never once made a noise. They two men stood at attention on either side of the opening, a sign of the utmost formality.

Bulma's eyes took a moment to adjust to the low lighting in the room. She liked the room, it was obvious to her that she was in on the oldest portions of the palace. It seemed untouched by the progress and technology that had pushed its way into the rest of the structure. It smelt of wood, and old leather, with a hint of spice. She was in one of the private spaces set aside for the King.

She came to stand at the edge of a long table, her on one side, the Prince on the other. The tablet he'd had shown her earlier sat propped up on the polished surface facing him. The light was blinking, she could see its reflection on the table top. He motioned to her to come around the table and access the tablet. He didn't move when she leaned in to push the button, instead standing perfectly still, arms akimbo, and face calm.

Her father's face filled the screen, and she smiled. Her parents had been her greatest influence growing up, and their absence was notable in her everyday life on Vejitasei. They exchanged greetings in time for her mother to join in on the conversation. Her animated voice brought on new waves of homesickness.

"Bulma, we have to be quick. Your mother and I have decided to take a vacation, for our health." Her father smiled, but it wasn't the full smile that reached his eyes. She immediately picked up on the small inflections in his tone.

"How have you two been? I've missed you." She tested the waters.

"We're doing a lot of traveling lately, getting out to see the sights and all. It's going to be a wonderful trip" he replied. Her father hated traveling, he was using their code words, inquiring if it was safe to talk.

Bulma winked, and knocked on the table twice, her confirmation of the security of the line. "How is the beach?" She asked.

"Are you safe? Have you been contacted by anyone from Chikyuu?" Her father's voice seemed very far away at that moment. She nodded, "I've been treated very well, I'm settling in just fine. Even have the beginnings of a lab coming together."

"Bulma, your mother and I, we've left." He paused; the statement was cryptic.

"Left? Left where?" She was confused.

"The Government attempted to interfere at Capsule Corporation. They've been quietly garnering support to abandon the alliance with the Saiyajin, and instead want to forge a relationship with the Cold Empire. I suspect they are trying to turn the tides of favour against the Saiyajin."

"We were raided; they came for our designs, our data, and most of all, they wanted access to you, through us." He rubbed his face with his hands.

"We thought it was a good time for a vacation. So we packed everything up and here we are." He stepped back from the camera allowing the viewers to see the inside of a ship. Bulma understood now, her parents had taken a ship and fled. The political climate at home had obviously been souring since her departure.

"I am sure they've sent an envoy to try and bring you back, or in the very least stop your arrangement from coming into play. They have done everything up until now very quietly." He fixed his eyes on hers, "Bulma, you need to be careful. There is a lot at stake here, clearly much more then anyone had ever thought. We are concerned for your well-being, for our alliance, and for Earth."

Bulma let out the breath she'd been holding. Her leg ached, and her mind was rushing to grasp how things had changed in the short time she'd been gone. She turned to look at the Prince, his mouth had tightened and his eyes had narrowed. She couldn't read his expression.

They talked more about her developing lab; careful to skirt around the unfortunate outcome of her last visit. She chortled about the great clothing choices, and the amount of new technology she was dying to get her hands on. "I think there is lots of potential here." She remarked.

"Oh! Yes, Bulma, lots of potential" her father nodded, his face relaxed. In the background she heard her mother and could picture her smile and sweet face, "lots of potential" she added. She smirked; her father's remark reflected his feelings on the technology, and her mother was making a passive, and potentially, inappropriate comment about the locals. She hoped very much so that some of the subtly was lost on the Prince.

Her mother's face filled the screen. "Bulma, dear, be safe, and be smart." It was one of her mother's favorite lines which implied that when it came to matters of the heart and men, she had to be extra careful. When she was 15, just before her journey to collect the Dragon Balls, she'd been deeply infatuated with a boy at school. He was beautiful, popular, and came from a wealthy family. He'd rejected her exceptionally brutally in front of her peers. She'd come home from school and cried it out over a cup of tea and her mother's baking. Her mother was a wise woman and bestowed upon her insights about external beauty, money, and what she termed love.

They broke off the connection shortly thereafter. She stood up, unaware that she'd been leaning closer and closer to the screen over the course of the conversation. Her back and legs were very unhappy with her.

As she stood at the door preparing to leave she turned, bowed slightly to the Prince and thanked him. She smiled and left, happy to be off walking out the aches and pains.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

There were still a few hours until the second portion of the ceremony would begin. She wandered again briefly back to her rooms, thanked her guards, who appeared confused by her comment, and shut the door. She needed to digest this information, and begin contemplating alternatives.

She knew both her and her father kept copies of the Capsule Corporation database; his was obviously more recent then hers. She recognized the value of the database and the implications of its contents. The database held details on past, present, future projects, as well as a reference section. She had her copy hidden in her room; it was in a capsule tucked into the bottom of a make-up bag with torn lining. The bag in turn was stuffed in the sleeve of a sweater in a drawer. Up until her conversation with her parents, she'd felt it safe, as no one excluding her parents was even aware of her possession. It was time to reconsider the resting place, at least until the political uncertainty had dispersed and there was more of a solid future ahead. She had to leave before any meaningful solution was found.

The second portion of the ceremony did not appeal to her in the least. This was her opportunity to prove her viability as Queen. From her understanding she would arrive, then her, the Prince, and select attendees would wait for an appointed time before concluding the ceremony. Traditionally women would make challenges to be part of the new King's harem. Harem was not the optimal word to describe the situation, but it was the best fit. The draw to mix in with a royal bloodline was quite high in the past. This portion of the ritual had not been used in three generations, as the female saiyajin population had been in steady decline for the last half century. Never before had there been a Queen and this adaptation was what the old King had felt best.

She arrived, and took her seat next to the Prince, noting he looked tired. Spectators, some council members, and high-ranking officials sat around a central depressed circular platform. Bulma was impeccably dressed; she noted coolly behind thick black lashes that she was garnering many looks of approval from the attendees. She also noted that the guests were only Saiyajin, not even servants were seen.

They sat in a power charged silence. She remembered to follow her instructions clearly. She sat on the edge of her chair, leaning forwards, ensuring to project an image of power and control. It helped that her chair sat almost a foot above the rest, allowing her to look down upon the attendees. The few that met her eyes were secretly pleased to see her stare right back.

A commotion began outside; Bulma was sure the others had all heard it long before she could. The double doors swung open and in strode a tall female, the first Bulma had ever seen. She sauntered with confidence to the center of the room descending into the open platform. "Is there no one to challenge me?" Her voice was feminine, yet firm, she held her arms out wide and turned about the room; stopping to kneel in front of the Prince.

"I have come to pledge my allegiance as K'ol Mo T'ol to the forthcoming King". She bowed her head; Bulma saw a small smirk appear on her lips.

The attendees moved their eyes around the room, but did not turn their heads. Bulma gathered that that his was wholly unexpected, and not just an oversight. The Prince stood, "leave Aa'Pell, I turn you away." Aa'Pell stood, the smirk off her face, "you can't, by the laws you must take me. She isn't part of our customs; you are forcing her to fit. My rank is higher then hers, and she is an offworlder." The saiyajin woman turned her back to Bulma as a sign of insult, a purposeful showing of blocking the Chikujin from the circle.

There was a long silent pause in the room. Bulma could see the situation deteriorating. She understood the basics, Aa'Pell was challenging Bulma, if she succeeded, Bulma would not become Queen and no alliance would be cemented. However, even if she did not succeed, it sounded as if she would become this K'ol Mo T'ol, and become part of the King's harem.

Bulma leaned forwards and spoke, "Aa'Pell, the comparison you draw between you and I is insulting. To stand before me and show me your back, from what I understand of your customs is an insult of grand proportions. I will challenge you, however since you have such little regard for your own customs, we will use mine. I will accept your challenge, and since you failed to name your terms, I will name mine. We are going to play an intellectual game of strategy; Ko Pi." She watched Aa'Pell's back, the woman had yet to turn to face her. Bulma bored her eyes into the back of her neck; she was tired and fed up with all these distractions.

The challenger turned nodded, and then leaned in whisper in Bulma's ear, "I will get my way, I always do." She stepped back, and with as much bravado as her entrance, she demanded the game of Ko Pi be brought to her. While they waited she spoke. She campaigned for herself and the preservation of a pure empire, frequently toeing the line of Vegeta's tolerance. "Aa'Pell you grab at much, but grasp very little." The Prince warned her, a rare sign of control from the heir. She ended her speech and bowed to the Prince. The game was relatively popular on the planet. It was not long before a board, pieces, and short table were placed in the center of the room.

The game was similar to chess, the goal to beat the other player in as few moves as possible. The pieces were tall thin stone carvings, weighty, and solid when held. The game had been played on Vejitasei for thousands of years. It was said to hone strategic minds, and help focus oneself.

In the beginning of the game attendees sat upright at the back of their chairs. They began to learn forwards when Aa'Pell began constructing a trap for Bulma. The Chikyuu-jin saw her opponent's intentions from the beginning, and opted to play along for the time being. Two hours into the game they all sat on the edges of their respective seats.

When the Saiyajin woman completed her last move she placed her hands on her hips, clearly deeply satisfied with herself. Bulma moved next and then leaned across the table, and Aa'Pell leaned forwards expecting a plea from the offworlder. "I win." Bulma whispered, fixing the woman with a cold impassive stare.

She stood; her back ached from leaning over yet another short table. She turned and addressed the Prince, "Aa'Pell has lost." She watched him study the board from his seat. Bulma turned and addressed the room, "Victory in 15 moves" she declared. The loser raged, seething silently across the board.

Bulma recognized skepticism on faces around the room. "If you'd like to confirm my conclusions please do, use your Scouters to determine the end result." She turned and returned to her seat next to the Prince. Aa'Pell swept the pieces from the board, purposefully aiming them at Bulma in her rage. The Chikyuu-jin was not fast enough to dodge the pieces, and felt the agonizing sting of the stone contact her body. She'd clenched her eyes and teeth, raising an arm in defense. The room was quiet when she lowered her arm and opened her eyes. The Prince was standing over Aa'Pell in the center. He had her pinned by the throat bent over the table. He tossed her from the table into the floor effortlessly; "I once again reject you as K'ol Mo T'ol" he glared down at her.

The attendees were leaving the room in silence. The Prince stood over Aa'Pell and flicked his eyes at Bulma. She understood enough to get out of her chair and walk with as much dignity as she could muster through the circle, and past Aa'Pell. The challenge was over, Bulma had won, and the Prince had rejected the challenger as K'ol Mo T'ol. It was over; all that remained was a public crowning ceremony now.

The Prince escorted Bulma back to her rooms. She bowed again, and thanked him formally for his help. Slipping into her room, she silently cheered, and danced around. She was elated with herself, it was done, she would be Queen of Vejitasei, and the alliance would be complete.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The Prince was privately and secretly relieved. Aa'Pell's appearance was wholly unexpected at the ceremony. He thought her rash and out of control. She was however, he begrudgingly admitted, one of the few females in his age range. The population ratio of females to males on the plant was approximately 2:5. It was an issue that had dogged the empire for a few hundred years now, going through both highs and lows. He still however remained concerned, her speech touched on the purity of the Saiyajin, a subject that never failed to raise ire, and public fervor.

In his father's youth the planet had been on the brink of civil war, fewer females were being birthed on world. The smaller pool of women on the planet, coupled with the deep running sense of honor and duty had pushed the population to lash back at the monarchy. They demanded that all female saiyajin remain on world, the women responded in kind by rebelling against the men, politicking for their right to fight and stand on the front lines as they had for many thousands of years.

A compromise was found, a technology that allowed newly fertilized embryo to be removed from its host and grown separately. The technology seemed to diffuse the growing tensions. Few still held that it lacked the naturalness that some felt was essential to creating a well-rounded Saiyajin. As time skipped by the birthrate continued to decline, but slowly. Females were pressured through the use of propaganda and merit reward bribes to have as many children as possible. An unexpected result however was that a small number of female warriors felt further compelled not to have children in an effort to exert their own choices. Purity of the species still remained a rallying call.

The declining birthrate and the battle between the sexes, the last civil war of the Saiyajin, resulted in the King, Vegeta's father, making a decree. For the first time in over 1500 years he opened the planet's boarders to offworlders. His attempt to placate his men backfired over time; personal harems became the norm as warriors began bringing back alien women from their missions. The population on the planet swelled to almost three times of its size before the decree. Resources began to dwindle, and the government began to bargain, buy, and outright demand additional resources from planets under its control.

The offworld rules were tightened as a result of the growing depletion of resources. More warriors were required to remain planetside to police and control a mishmash of aliens whose population nearly encompassed one third of the entire planet. In the years after the birth of Prince Vegeta the government placed strict restrictions on the immigration of offworlders to Vejitasei. From the birth of the Prince until the late King's ultimate demise the population had shrunk slightly, however the speed at which they consumed resources and materials had only increased.

The Saiyajin were dwindling in number ever so slowly. At the same time the surrounding alien populations were increasing despite strict controls. Their culture was mutating, from a warrior culture resplendent with a rich history to a mercenary empire. The mercenary empire that profited from planet brokering was shifting once again, it was struggling to provide for itself while stretching its resources and people further then it ever had. The empire was now struggling to hold up its own weight, planet brokering was no longer as profitable as it once had been.

The Empire's problems were not only inwardly facing. The Cold Empire had been steadily expanding closer to their boarders, a pending concern that the Prince knew too well. He'd been sent away to train and learn from it. The Cold Empire had demanded the Prince from King Vegeta as a sign of truce between their two empires. As Vegeta aged it became apparent to him that King Cold had only taken the young prince in an effort to use him as a pawn to one day take over the Vejitasei. In a spectacular battle the young Prince had broken free of the Cold Empire, killing King Cold in the process. The two great empires had remained in an uneasy stalemate for the past 15 years.

Then Chikyuu, a small, but industrious backwater planet, had emerged as a technological marvel. It'd once been a planet slated for purging, and sale. The infant sent to do the task had failed, and was instead assimilated and brought up in the planet's culture. The purchasers failed to make their requisite payments, and the purging of Chikyuu was lost in a backlog as Vejitasei look inward to quell is own internal problems.

When Radditz, brother of the Kakkarot, now Goku the saiyajin infant, arrived to address the oversight he was greeted with unexpected sights. He'd battled with Goku over his nephew and lost. The final transmissions from Radditz's scouter were sent back to Vejitasei. Over the next year the same scouter was activated numerous times, it however did not transmit, but instead pulled any and all data it could. It was then that the residents of Chikyuu, specifically Bulma Briefs, began gathering in earnest information on their space faring neighbours.

Over the next few years scattered reports began coming in about space vessels in the vicinity of the unpurged planet. From there bits and pieces of traded technology began making their way across the galaxies, an improved scouter, small storage devices called Capsules, and finally trinkets, clothing, and food. While the Chikyuu-jin were expanding themselves into outer space the expanding borders of both the Cold Empire, and Vejitasei were rushing towards the small planet.

The Chikyuu-jin government reached out to Vejitasei with a most unusual request. The issue had bounced through the empire before the King himself realized and seized the opportunity. King Vegeta brokered a new kind of deal; within the small blue planet he saw a civilization that had beaten many of the growing problems on his home world. Unfortunately his son succeeded the King before he could realize his plan.

Prince Vegeta steepled his fingers and pursed his lips, he'd been contemplating the appearance of Aa'Pell and his mind had drifted. He lacked focus recently, distracted by the newfound weight of his pending king-dom, and by a flurry of transmissions that he'd recently become privy to.

Three ships of Chikyuu origin were coming into range of the planet. The first two were not unexpected. One ship no doubt contained dignitaries to observe the crowning of their diplomat into Queen. The second would contain long-term visitors to Vejitasei, experts and workers to help implement additional technologies, teachings, and techniques in their bid to control the resource-gobbling planet. The third however was the one of concern. The ship's design was notably different; it traveled faster, and was barely perceptible to the trackers. It was gaining on the two larger vessels and would overtake them in a few hours.

He'd known for days what this was. The smaller ship was coming to stop everything that had been put in motion. His father had been monitoring reports of the boarders near Chikyuu before his demise. After his death his son had found interest in the ongoing activities, recognizing the value of the alliance nearly too late. Small ships from Chikyuu and the Cold Empire had been tracked to small rendezvous whose frequency had been increasing since just prior to the Chikyuu delegation's departure.

The Prince's past experiences recognized the technique. The Cold Empire used to frequently. They would approach a planet, exaggerate the Saiyan threat and extend an offer of protection. No protection ever materialized, the empire always moved in short order to quash or enslave the inhabitants, then raping the planet for resources, technologies, and sometimes slaves. It was starting to happen on Chikyuu.

Back in her own rooms Bulma slept like the dead and it was wonderful. She woke feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. It was an exceptional feeling, one she hadn't felt in some time. She danced around her room in her underwear with excitement. Even the bright red lines on her body couldn't detract from the giddy feeling she awoke with. At sunset she would be crowned Queen.

The blue gown had been moved from the corner to the center of the room. Someone had laid out a table of make up and jewels. Bulma dawned a dressing gown and sat down in front of the mirror. She watched herself for a long time, taking in her own face, the colour of her hair and eyes. She'd always wondered how much this experience would change her. When she was younger she craved adventure, and now that she had it, she wanted to know if in 10 years when she looked back if it would have been worth it all.

As people began to stream into her room to help her prepare she watched the sun as it began to move ever so slowly closer to the horizon. This was her final sunset as a single woman she thought. As she sat through the various ministrations her mind drifted into places she wanted it to stay away from. Her mind focused on all the have nots she could expect between this evening and her finals days on Vejitasei. She would remain a Virgin Queen in all respects. Per the terms of the original deal she was to wed the former King and wait until enough solidity had formed to withstand her return to Chikyuu. The initial trigger was the creation of an heir, however since the late King Vegeta already had an heir, it was all just for show.

Now however she was marrying the Prince, a prince with no heirs, and from his display with Aa'Pell, she dejectedly wondered how he would beget himself an heir if he turned down the only woman who applied for the job. Bulma sighed. Her brain refused to hold its tongue and threw into relief the probable reality she could expect. She would remain alone, unable to form any emotional, or sexual attachments due to her newfound social status. She sighed again and wished hopelessly for time to pass quickly.

Bulma looked beautiful, even she couldn't deny her own appearance. She sat on a bench chair fully dressed and fidgety. She was waiting for the photographer to finish fiddling with his equipment. Someone thought it was an exceptional idea to tie in some media to this once in a lifetime event. The photographer had snapped away thousands of photos up until that point. He declared that this, her journey to Vejitasei and her wedding would be his finest work yet. She dutifully posed for artistic photos showing off her gown and jewels. Nothing about the moment felt particularly spectacular, there were no butterflies in her stomach, just nervous energy that forced her to twitch and move constantly.

Deftly the photographer would pose her, adjust her gown, or hair. She cooperated as best she could, hearing her mother's voice tell her about the importance of keepsakes. Bulma would later barely remember taking many of the photos, however in they would later encompass one small part of a large endearing collection that would make women swoon, and sigh with wishes of lust and love.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

At the appointed hour Bulma walked with her guards back down the long halls to the entrance of the Arena balcony. She stood alone in silence reminding herself of all the intricacies of the crowning ceremony. She was genuinely startled when the Prince appeared and grasped her left hand. Together they stood facing the small smudge of red-orange sky in the final hallway. In unison they walked out into the open arena. The sun did not shine on them as it had before; instead it beat down behind them on their backs. Her gown and jewels caught the deep reds, and purples that began to form, her eyes and smile looked every more radiant in the fading sunlight.

The four combatants from the first trial knelt in a row, General T'So included. The couple approached and Vegeta dropped her hand. He spoke to his people, his voice rich and smooth. They cheered, and Bulma could feel the energy crackle around her, the hairs on her arms and neck stood up in a salute. She tried to listen in closely to the speech, but couldn't hear it over the sudden heavy thudding of her heart. Her breath hitched when he grabbed her hand again and once again held it up above their heads. The crowd greedily accepted the gesture, crying out louder with more fervor. He pulled her down into a kneeling crouch before the four combatants and they were crowned.

The cheers reached new heights once again as they stood, her hand still in his. The whole crowd rippled and quieted, and Bulma could barley take in the vast number of people before her, they were all bowing. The experience was stunning, she felt powerful, beautiful, and a tiny bit scared of this newfound display of respect. She swept her eyes around and finally to the left to watch Vegeta, he head was held high, his jaw line accentuated in the rich growing reds of the sunset. In the moment she thought he was radiating pride, he seemed to be drinking in the experience, his hands flexed between their interlocked fingers. It was like this was the grand conclusion for him, the final piece of some long personal struggle. The sunset gracefully on the scene, the vibrant oranges slid into vivid reds, and peacefully they darkened into fuchsias, violets, and thick purples. In the changing light Vejitasei too changed itself, a plant ruled by a King, who for the first time had a queen, and alien queen at that. Celebrations began when the first stars were seen in the night sky, and would continue for three evenings.

The Prince, now King turned sharply, pulling Bulma along with him. She avoided stumbling, however couldn't keep her eyes off the bowed crowd. She walked craning her head and torso backwards for the first few steps. She was still in awe of the crowd. Soon they vanished from her sight and the crowned royals of the Vejitasei Empire returned inside to begin the celebrations.

The new Queen and King sat side by side in the throne room, a steady procession of high-ranking members of society offering their pledges, and allegiances. Vegeta suspected they wished to assess his co-regent, determine her weaknesses, and vet her for threats. The Chikyuu-jin however never let such a dark thought in, she believed they were legitimately curious of her and only wanted a peak at something new and novel. Such dichotomy would mark and characterize much of their relationship.

She watched each visage in the parade of faces hoping for a human face. A few came to light, however disappointingly, only a handful were humans of note. Her earlier conversation with her parents sprung to mind. No high-ranking official, or diplomat from any dominant democracy was in attendance. Her parents were right, the politics at home had shifted, and it did not seem to be in her favour. It weighed on her knowing that without Chikyuu's ongoing support she, the now very public face of her people, would be unable to hold up their end of the bargain. If she was gambling with her life when she accepted this role, she was walking blindfolded through a minefield now.

King Vegeta had a short tolerance for ceremony and ended the line of well-wishers relatively quickly. Although not until after Bulma had been bowed to by hundreds of well-wishers. They walked out hand in hand, as they'd arrived. Bulma felt the custom was becoming awkward; her hand just hung in his, it felt empty and uncomfortable. Real or imagined she thought that the constant handholding threw up an unexpected barrier between herself and her new husband. Something murmured in her ear about all the small ways he reacted; his hand was like hot stone around hers, unfeeling and unmoving, he clenched his jaw and set his expression blank, his mouth though, it was never quite in line with eyes. It had just a hint of a look, the beginning of a word perhaps? She'd always interpreted it as him having something on his tongue, but he couldn't overcome something about the situation that would allow him to speak.

Bulma wasn't too far off the mark. It wasn't _something_ about the situation that froze his tongue, it was her. There was nothing to describe the stunned feeling that preceded every interaction; just that it remained constant and unquestionably connected to her. He exhorted far more energy then he showed having to control his tongue, mind, and body. He was trapped in an arrangement he could have easily avoided had he checked his vengeance for only the briefest moments to reflect on the inevitable outcome. Had he waited just two more years this shame marriage could have been over and done with, and he could have assumed the throne unencumbered. His homemade bad fortunes however did not stop there, his inheritance came to him bursting at the seems with problems, an empire with crumbling edges, a diminishing population, and an agreement of fantastic proportions with a foreign species in a last ditch hope effort. This marriage, and all the ways that it impacted him and his world, was of exceptional importance. He recognized that bubbling to the surface all around him were the first signs of the great dance of war between Vejitasei and the neighboring Cold Empire. Everything was culminating and rushing towards some unspecified day in the future when they would collide. There was too much riding on this now, he'd already nearly ruined this arrangement three times prior, he bit his tongue, forced a neutral face, and silenced his mind's inner commentary every time he saw her. Yet still the stunned feeling persisted, she threw him off balance. She made him question what he knew about women, alien women, it made him feel unsure, he'd never before truly considered the questions she brought up for him personally. When he held her hand, or walked close enough to smell her hair those questions jumped into his mouth, pulling it out of alignment with the rest of his passive face.

He lead her along, down a long hallway until they emerged on a large crescent shaped platform, it was settled just below the balcony they were crowned on. A shaped table fitting for the space had been dressed and piled high with platters of exotic fruits, vegetables, roasted and baked meats, and elegant deserts. As Bulma drank in the sight she recognized a few dishes from home just within her reach. Her belly danced, and her mouth watered.

Now he was publicly linked with someone who made him feel that the consequences would destroy him if he made only the slightest misstep.

She sat in a proffered chair, and listened with a sinking heart as he whispered in her ear, a move so subtle she doubted anyone realized he'd spoken to her. He hissed at her not to eat, not anything, not even a sip of water.

Putting on a mask was nothing new to her, it just wasn't expected at her own wedding. The more and more she thought about the situation the less and less pleased she was with the choice to take this assignment. Granted she was aware of how truly short the candidate list was after required skills, age, and commitment were factored in. This was one honor she hadn't wanted. Even in the beginning she had to be talked into accepting this. At least she could people watch, it would keep her mind off her stomach, and keep her looking both attentive, and engaged.

The crowd mingled, like the tide individuals sank further back into the gathering before pushing forwards again to the table. Bulma started to play a little game, counting the number of times the recognizable faces came back to her. She knew that the purpose of this outdoor feast was not in celebration of her and King, it was to honor the old traditions, the wane of the old King's reign, and the progression of their new monarch's sovereignty. The new King was nothing but an icon here, a symbol for the masses to cheer to and drink for. She, the queen, was nothing but an afterthought in this.

The sky was clearing from is lazy sunset. The starlight was beginning to peak through the thick purple sky. She looked up at them and wondered how many times this celebration had gone on? How many Kings had been succeeded by their sons in the history of Vejitasei? Her mind wandered, would Vegeta's own eventual heir succeed him in such a brutal fashion?

"My Queen." The voice was quiet, and reserved. Bulma turned to see a man kneeling to her right. She smiled at him and motioned for him to continue. "You've been requested", he paused and licked his dry lips. "They asked that you be given this." The Chikyuu-jin snatched a proffered envelope out of his hands and dug inside it. She knew the grain of the paper, and the crème letterhead, she'd received many of these letters while she'd prepared on Chikyuu. She pulled the folded paper out and into her lap, crushing down her dress beneath the table's edge to remain as inconspicuous as possible. She read the letter, and read it once more, and then a third time. Her heart beat faster with each paragraph. Her thumb traced the thick wide pen lines of the signature. She was confused; the contents of the letter contradicted everything she'd understood about the situation she was in. Bulma sighed, the weight of the world was coming down on her shoulders; it would crush her, she had no doubts.

The letter was brief, but the tone sharp. She was to recuse herself prior to the crowning ceremony and then she was to be accompanied home by a military escort. She, Bulma Briefs, was being summed back to Chikyuu, she was to be tried by the Courts for her role as Vice President of Capsule Corporation and as the emissary for this alliance. The letter went on to detail how the government on unspecified grounds had seized her father's beloved company, and how they were holding him in prison for his yet unnamed crimes. As if another threat was required, the letter detailed how her own personal assets had been sized as proceeds of crime. The whole thing made her blood boil, she knew unquestionably that something was amiss. The signature at the bottom was lacking, replaced with the Presidential Seal. This was all wrong; this was what her father had been warning her about. The guard, still crouched at her side looked nervous. It made no sense for him to be nervous.

Bulma folded the letter back into its envelope. She would have to excuse herself to address this. She also needed time to think, precious time to access and activate that private line to her parents. Her father had to be notified, they had to put out a statement. Someone had to intervene with the government, rationally her brain laid out the steps. Capsule Corporation was her father's brainchild, his second love after her mother. He would be devastated. She shifted in her seat, quietly trying to arrange herself to be excused. In her head she could hear her mother making tsk noises at her for wanting to disrupt her own wedding.

A sly glance out of the corner of her eye to the King made her stop. She was foolish to have thought she could have snuck something by someone so observant. Especially when he was sitting only a few feet away. He turned, his arms crossed over his chest and fixed her with look; the expression was neutral, but haughty. Uncrossing his arms he beckoned with two fingers to the guard. Without prompting he began speaking in a hushed voice. The King waived him off and returned to watching over the crowd. Bulma was at a loss on how to extricate herself. She knew logically that leaving now was highly inappropriate, but couldn't focus on anything beyond her immediate need to investigate this sudden and unexpected issue.

She watched the King out of the corner of her eye. She was becoming anxious and nervous about who was waiting for her, and what would happen after she left the table. She tapped her toes in her shoes, anything to help her pass the time and stop her stomach from sinking any further. The King fixed her with a second lance, this time she could see the way his nostrils flared, and how his eyes had narrowed, raising his eyebrows. She'd been the recipient of this look thousands of time in her childhood; it meant sit still. Humbled by her bad behavior she stopped fidgeting and cupped her hands in lap, forcing herself to be content with the weight of the letter between her fingertips.

February 1, 2011

The evening continued, her fidgeting unobserved. The sky was now a starry expanse of navy, the bright pinpoints of the stars beginning to sharpen. Bulma found a small measure of comfort knowing that her parents had escaped Chikyuu just in time. The stars also reminded her of lying in the desert with Yaumcha as a teen, it'd been peaceful and calming for her.

The newly crowned king watched his queen stargaze. She'd finally stopped squirming in her seat. He could understand her need to investigate the party his guard had advised him about. They'd angered him as well by stepping foot on his home world, much less within his palace, under false pretenses. Anger however didn't translate into alarm, there was nothing the small party could reasonably do beyond demand. They were both weaker, and outnumbered, and they'd been caught. The celebrations were much more important, his presence, and subsequently his queen's was required until the appointed time. He glanced up at the stars; enough time had passed. He'd been waiting until the pinpricks of light became sharp and clear, the sky had passed into a rich deep blue, and the celebrations were driving the crowd into a frenzy. He watched a guard approaching with two glasses before turning his attention back to the celebration. This celebration was for the people, not for him.

The guard appeared and set a tall glass before Bulma and one before Vegeta. She grasped for it, looking at Vegeta while she did. He nodded at her, a signal to drink. Her tongue danced at the flavour, it was exceptional, exciting every taste bud, and made her lips tingle ever so slightly. Remembering her manners she sipped it slowly, thoroughly enjoying the uniqueness of the drink, and the exceptional sensations that came with it. In her belly it sloshed and turned warm, the heat radiating up and into her face and arms. She felt flushed, and the fire in her gut reminded her to stop drinking. She wasn't sure what this drink was, much less what it was doing to her.

A servant arrived with a tray of foods and a small box for Bulma; her medication. The King waived it away with a grunt and sour expression. The Queen seethed, she needed that, or slowly in the next little while her body would revert to its weak state, and she'd be unable to move on her own. He cut off any retort she had on her tongue by pushing back out of his chair to stand. With a quick movement of the head tossed back the rest of his drink. He passed her own glass back to her and hissed out a "drink it". He wouldn't listen to her protests of concern, "but I don't know what this is, or what it will do to me". He eyed her up and down and smirked while he crossed his arms over his chest. The liquid in her belly was making her feel languid and relaxed. It was very subtle at first, it was making her feel devious, powerful, and awake. She smiled back at him, the edges of her lips curling upwards. She reached for the glass and began to delicately drain it, when she was finished she licked her lips and smiled again.

The King watched his foreigner Queen with apprehension. The appearance of the goblets was unexpected. He'd not anticipated this, but could understand it. They were an invitation, extended to both of them. He tried not to think about what the appearance of similar goblets had meant for him in the past. His mind was trailing off to past memories while his eyes watched the queen sipped back the last of her drink. He couldn't help but focus on her as her pink tongue darted out to absorb the last droplets on pink lips. He liked the way she smiled up at him; she was accepting his challenge. They left the table quickly and quietly. Back through the long hall and into the palace proper. He lead and she followed as quickly as she could.

Bulma was starting to get a feel for the layout of the palace; she was starting to recognize the halls they were traversing. She was lagging behind, her gown was heavy and the train was cumbersome. She arrived at their destination a few paces behind Vegeta. They were in a small alcove that sometimes served as a semi-private receiving room, nearby was the throne room. Vegeta stood in front of a handful of human men dressed in military fatigues. They were all tall men, each projected auras of confidence and perhaps smugness. She recognized their uniforms, military, highly trained, and rude, always so rude.

When Bulma entered the room she caught the up and down looks they gave her. She was not naïve; she knew she was a stunning bride-queen. The distraction of her appearance angered Vegeta who snarled at the men when they looked from him to her. The forefront man stepped forwards towards Bulma and grasped her elbow. "Ms. Briefs we've been instructed to place you under arrest and return you to Earth." He began pulling her towards him. The indignant rage boiled up and rushed through her lips in a hiss. Her face shifted from stunning and serene to angry and cold. Her lips were forming the opening barrage of a verbal attack when he stepped in, or at least that is what she assumed.

There wasn't any perceptible movement, first she was being pulled along by her elbow, and then she was alone, the man gripping her gone. The man was doubled over, arms over his midsection about 20 feet away. He groaned and withered, but didn't look back up. A second man approached their injured comrade, and a third stepped towards Bulma. He seemed much more hesitant to reach for her, but it didn't stop him from raising his hands in a sign of attempted peace. "Look, your options here are pretty straight forwards…" he trailed off for the briefest moment and his eyes snapped to the side, looking past her. She read the signs, he was affirming that someone was behind her. Deftly she lifted the skirts of her dress and walked to Vegeta's side. He stood with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. "Explain yourselves" he spat out, "your reason better be good boy…"

"Sir, your highness, Ms. Briefs is required to return with us to Earth. She is under arrest and must return to face trial. Our government has sent us to retrieve her immediately." The man was unsettled by the King's behavior. "So let me make sure I understand you. You've traveled all the way here in a little tiny spacecraft hoping we wouldn't detect you. Then you've forced your way into the palace. Now you're demanding that the newly crowned Queen of Vejitasei depart just hours after our deal was sealed? And yet here you are standing in front of the King of the Sayajin, lying? As a foreign…group" he couldn't bring himself to justify Chikyuu's army in any sort of defensive grouping, military, army, or otherwise. "you've clearly not thought this through." The King uncrossed his arms and flexed his fingers. Small shots of electricity bounced around his fingertips. The Chikyuu-jin group fell back to their injured man.

Vegeta stepped forwards, his hands now covered with dancing energy. Bulma was mesmerized by it, she stared unblinking as her mind drifted momentarily. The smell of ozone brought her out of her drifting. She could see this was starting to go sideways, all of it. She stepped quickly catching up to the King, her brain just reacted and then her gloved hand was on his forearm. She knew it was another misstep; inappropriate, and almost intimate.

She wondered if she'd felt a flinch beneath her fingertips, but her brain was too engaged in pulling her hand off him to analyze it. The energy on his hands had spread upwards, touching hers. It hadn't hurt, just surprised her. It looked so much like electricity that her brain registered it as a danger. She forced her hand down by her side, even if the girl-scientist inside was chomping at the bit to see the effect of Vegeta's manifested power on her glove.

February 20, 2011

"I want to know the charges against me, and I want to know who is making them" Her voice was firm. "The amount of effort, time and work that went into making this happen wasn't a whim. I want to know why, and I want to know right now!" Her voice was becoming louder. The soldier stood where she'd left him, and she raked her eyes over their entire group.

"The Government has decided that this isn't an alliance in our best interest. Capsule Corporation forced this decision and used its economic weight and wealth to ensure that you were sent over anyone else. Capsule Corporation is charged with interfering in government affairs, bribery, among other charges. You Ms. Briefs are charged in connection with your father's underground plot to overthrow the government and take power for yourselves. President Tokeiya has demanded your immediate return to answer to these charges. The alliance with the Saiyans is considered null and void as it was constructed under duress. The President will not stand for this." The man again stepped forwards intending to forcer her to return with them.

"President Tokeiya?" Bulma furrowed her brows, he'd last been the Undersecretary of State when she'd left, her mind was whirling. How much really had changed since she'd left? "What happened to President Auiko?" President Auiko had been a staunch supporter of this arrangement, he could see the benefits it brought to both parties, and felt that it was a better alternative then either the Cold Empire, or no alliance at all.

"Auiko was killed in a tragic plane accident" the man mentioned in monotone. Both Bulma and Vegeta picked up on his flat tone; a lie. The revelation only made her more worried. Things were worse then she'd thought, she was thankful her parents had escaped but what about her friends, what about her people? "What about the Vice-President? How did Tokeiya become President?"

"Its _President_ Tokeiya" the man corrected her before sharply snapping his mouth shut. He'd said all he was willing to say. His comrades were regrouping behind him now, including the hurt one.

Vegeta snarled at them man in a most regal way, "you dare correct the Queen of Vejitasei?" He crossed his arms over his broad chest and scowled at the man. Bulma pre-empted his next comment, "I'm not returning with you, you've come here sneaking around, and frankly I don't think this is all on the up and up. I know things have changed at home since I've left, but I don't think your version is the truth. Go home, and tell Tokeiya that Bulma Briefs doesn't appreciate his poor attempt at subterfuge, or the lies." She tossed the letter at the man's feet.

"My parents are alive and well, far from his reach, his threat won't work. Also I know Tokeiya's history with Capsule Corp. he's tried many times over the years to force us into sharing our database, our knowledge, and to force us under military control. I don't think the death of President Auiko was an accident, and I don't think you're sudden appearance is legitimate. Auiko always stood in Tokeiya's way, he had a fair head on his shoulders and was doing what was in everyone's best interest. Tokeiya is a power hungry, pro-violence man who would stop at nothing to become president. Even without your insignia's I recognize your uniforms, you're a division of his special forces, and I think he's using you to try and force my return for his own gain. So did I get it right?" She put her hands on her hips and glowered at the military unit. They all stood impassively before the King and Queen, silent, with blank faces. Vegeta said nothing, but turned and exited the room, the Queen took the cue and followed behind him, her large train swishing heavily behind her.

Outside the room and behind closed doors he turned to her, "is it true?" His face was unreadable. Bulma pursed her lips and sighed, "Auiko didn't fly, ever. Tokeiya has been after Capsule Corp and my family both directly and indirectly for years." She paused and looked down at her clasped hands examining her gloves, "what does this mean for us?" She blurted out; her composure was shaken, this wasn't what she'd expected, and it rattled her to hear that Auiko was dead, but it also bothered her on a much deeper level to find that Tokeiya had somehow seized power.

"Hn" the King grunted. She dared to look at his face, and found it hadn't changed. "Continue on, down this hall, as far as it goes." He'd returned back into the room by the time she'd processed his command. She tried the doors, but found them either locked, or too heavy to move. Sighing she gathered her gown and set off down the hall.


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N: **I've been stuck on this part for AGES. This is actually only part 1/2, or maybe 1/3 depending on how this plays out. So thoughts, expectations about where this should go? I want to finish this, and I do have much of it planned out. Overall in my ideal storyline we're around the 1/3 mark. I just need to get over this 2-3 chapter hump and the speed will start picking up, things will start transitioning into a more action-y storyline. Unless of course you'd like something else with this.

And yes, I need to be prodded to post. I just loose track of time, and get caught up with other things, projects, plots, etc. I'm sorry, I hate being one of those authors…

Chapter 18

February 21 – May 7, 2011

Bulma did as she was directed and followed the hall as far as she could go. It seemed unending, as did most halls in the palace. Her gown was cumbersome to carry; the train slowed her down. She did have to admit though that it was a beautiful piece of clothing.

The lighting in the hall was becoming more and more sparse, so were doorways, connecting halls, and the furniture. She suspected this was the same underused part of the palace that she and Vegeta had finally struck their deal in. She noted the familiar painful tingling in her body, the medication she took to remain mobile was being slowly flushed from her system. She trudged on hoping she would find her destination before it completely wore off.

It felt like her body had been asleep and was slowly waking up. There were multiple painful pinpricks that her brain neither registered as hot nor cold, it was a combination of two events occurring, her raw nerves being overwhelmed by sensory overloads, and her muscles were loosing their ability to support her and provide her the stabilization she needed to walk and balance herself. When the sensation grew stronger she began looking around for somewhere to stop, she couldn't make out her final destination. Out of the gloom ahead she spotted a bench, it was a u-shaped seat which provided one arm rests, but no back. Bulma sat down heavily, she was having a hard time balancing herself, and was worried that her recovering leg would give out. So she sat, and waited, and waited, and waited some more.

She couldn't judge how much time had passed since she'd left the King. Patiently the alien Queen sat in silence, forcing herself to be patient. Vegeta knew she hadn't had her medication, he'd been the one to wave it off, he had to recognize that it would have worn off shortly thereafter. It was in her best interest to wait here she'd decided, but without anything to entertain her she quickly became bored. Boredom lead to a wandering mind, and her drifting attention focused on the most salient inputs available - her over-stimulated nerves.

Her leg proclaimed her gown was too heavy as it sat on her legs, so she swung herself up into the chair using the arm rests as a back and leg rest respectively. She hiked up the heavy gown up and into her lap, removing as much of its pressure as she could off her leg. She sighed when it relieved some of her discomfort. More time passed and she began to wonder if anyone was coming for her, or if she was going to have to do something un-lady like and yell for help. Bulma tipped her head back to rest her head on the armrest, careful to mind her hair. She was a sight, the newly crowed queen draped over a bench in all her dishelved finery. It felt good though, in the dim light it was relaxing to just sit there, feet propped up and head back. As she sat the warm feeling in the pit of her belly began to heat once more. That drink was still affecting her. Subconsciously her tongue licked at her lips, hoping for another taste.

Bulma was playing a game with herself where she'd cross her eyes and see what funny shapes her brain would pick out of the shadows. She'd just spotted what she'd interpreted as a blossoming cherry tree when she heard footsteps. The languid heat in her stomach made her sluggish, but she managed to sit up and toss her gown over her exposed legs. The King appeared shortly thereafter, with a force to his step and a deep frown creasing his face. He came to stand near her infringing ever so slightly on her personal space. No words were exchanged as he picked her up, one arm under her legs, and one behind her back.

"Stop!" she yelped as he made motion to continue on their way. "Sorry" she mumbled, "my train is too long." She twisted gingerly and tried to pull it up with her damaged arm. Vegeta was becoming impatient as she slowly pulled up the fabric into her lap. Inwardly he cursed at her excessive attire, the fabric pile was near large enough to block his view as he walked.

There were just no words for the quasi-awkward situation Bulma was in. She tried to be helpful by holding down the excess fabric as the King walked, but found that she couldn't quite figure out the protocol for this interaction. Did she lean into his chest, or remain upright as she was? There was a bad joke about being carried over the threshold in all of this she was sure. He did carry her effortlessly though, keeping up a brisk pace as he continued on down the hall. The man truly was in shape. The trail of ever widening lights disappeared and soon they were walking in darkness. Without the light to judge her position Bulma gave in and gradually leaned the weight of her torso into the King.

The warm in her belly was making her flushed again, except for this time she could swear it'd spread to his hands and body. Bulma was sure that she could feel heat radiating off the King through her gown, however her brain, fuzzy as it was from the drink, firmly denied that she should have been able to feel the body heat of someone through her clothes. The Chikyuu-jin was still pondering the proper protocol for being carried by her new husband when she was able to make out the faint haze of orange light in front of them.

Ensconced in the light they stopped. Vegeta set her down on a similar bench. He hadn't even broken a sweat carrying her. She smiled shyly and thanked him. He made no move to acknowledge it, but instead passed her another goblet from a small side table next to the bench. He drank his back in one fluid tip of his chin. She sipped at hers slowly wanting to savor the unique sensation the flavor brought out on her tongue. "Hn" he grunted at her and motioned with her hand to drink up. The second glass was just as warm as the first in her belly, she was flushed all over, and she was starting to wonder where they were going. It seemed like their destination was taking them further and further from anything she recognized. As she placed her own glass down she noticed another hazy orange glow peaking around a corner further down the hall. The light seemed to be brightening into a yellow as she stared at it.

He scooped her up again the moment he realized she'd finished her drink. In his belly were the faintest brushes of trepidation, it manifested as tendrils, which wrapped delicately around his spine and upwards into the back of his skull. He'd never experienced even one full goblet prior to this, much less two goblets that already had been offered, as he himself had never once consumed this much of the proffered drink.

When he was a very small boy he'd come down here, his father had marched him, hand on his shoulder, through the corridors. An older woman with the beginnings of facial wrinkles in the corner of her eyes, and around her generous mouth met them. Then the most strange thing had happened - the King bowed to her, and his father pressed him to do so as well. Prince Vegeta had always been instructed that he, the King, was the embodiment of the Empire. Everyone was to bow to him, not he to anyone. The woman reached for the Prince's hand only to be sharply rebuffed by the child's aloof attitude. His father had yanked his arm to give him a shake before firmly handing his small hand over to the woman's grasp.

The Prince perceived the woman leading him away from his father as having no malice towards him. Her hands were warm, dry, and soft around his. The feeling of her skin on his imprinted something on him, it marked for him the memorable qualities of this unique childhood encounter. She lead him into a large room and invited him to sit on one side of a low table on a plush cushion. On the table were various plates piled high with exotic fruits, and sugary smelling foreign deserts. She smiled at him and pushed a plate in front of him. The rest was fuzzy, they'd talked, and that was all. However when he thought back on the memory it always reminded him of her warm hands on his bare skin, the sweet tang of the treats she offered, and faintly he could recall the way her voice made him feel very relaxed and pleased with himself.

When he was a bit older, a short time before his departure to the Icejins, his father walked him again down the hall and this time advised him to drink the contents of a small earthenware bowl waiting on the side table. His father left him there, and the young prince was once again escorted into the large room. This time the low table had been replaced with vibrant rugs and a demi-circle of grand comfortable pillows. The older woman reclined gracefully across the pillows, while he sat stiff-backed with his legs crossed. He was uneasy and was starting to experience a touch of queasiness from the drink he'd imbibed. The woman spoke to him at length again, he couldn't convince his brain to focus in on her, but somehow found himself nodding and answering in short simple words. She smiled, and passed him a small dish filled with tiny hard glossy square candies. Two younger saiyan women appeared with a long low table and a platter of ornate delicate dishes. They draped the table and then all three women stood with their backs to him. He'd nervously undressed to his undergarments and laid down on the table. The women turned and began a slow process of mixing the various contents of the dishware. They rubbed his skin with a thick oil and then sat and worked diligently at their collective task – placing the marks of ascension upon him as an attestation to his right and worthiness of kingship. The child he was has no clear memory, just impressions of safety and worship. His tongue craves the sweet treats every time he reflects upon the second experience.

Then there should have been a memory of the last time he'd been invited. However, he'd long been under the oppressive thumb of Freiza. Normally an heir would undergo 8 visits to this place; to be recognized as the heir at birth, found worthy of the title in infancy, be marked as the heir in childhood, to be initiated into the rights of the heir, purified to rule, to take the throne, the birth of the first heir, and the passing of the crown. His last visit would have been his initiation, he would have been past the peak of puberty and coming into his manhood.

Instead his people had smuggled him, at great cost and risk, two supplicants to perform his initiation rights. They'd also brought him a gift from his father, a tiny capsule. One of the women directed him how to use it, and demonstrated by doing so. There was a mild bang and dome appeared, made out of a stone-type material with inset windows and a door, barely disrupting the curved flowing lines. What ever it was, it was damned good. The women lead him inside. He could smell them throughout the building, which he now understood to be a dwelling of sorts. They pressed a message into his hand, supplicants are bared from speaking to anyone outside the priestess-hood until they themselves had risen to the title of Priestess. The note was nothing more then a quick set of squiggles about how the pop-up dwelling was called a Capsule House, and that its contents were his father's gift to him, something he'd picked up on recent travel. He brunt the note in his palm, angry that his father had sent him ridiculous spiritual women rather then done something useful with the small fortune this had cost. Religion, he huffed, something he could do without, and would, if he lived to reign. The women were there again, holding a platter with a glass between themselves and gazing away from his face.

He drank a half-full glass of their brew, and it bubbled warmly in his stomach. It made him softer, it pulled him off his guard and let him relax into a warmth that seemed to have come up around him. One of the women smiled at him, but her eyes never met his, she reached cautiously to grasp his hand, she led him into the center of the house, which seemed to be a large open area. The woman once again escorted him in to a low table and folded herself to sit opposite of him and next to her partner. She nudged a saucer of electric blue bite-sized apple shaped fruits in his direction. She spoke frankly, and for the first time he took away an understanding of their conversation, rather then just a pleasant impression of warmth and comfort. The discussion enraged him, she'd plucked at a delicate subject boldly. He was still young, having just come into the body that'd been growing and changing around him for the past two decades, his features had sharpened and settled into the face he'd carry throughout his adulthood. The two younger women from his last encounter appeared on either side of the prince, they both bowed on their knees. They were waiting for the Prince to choose one of the two women for his initiation. He'd eventually made his selection, taking both rather then the traditional one. The supplicants hesitated just long enough to share a questioning look. His pride always assumed that he was first of the heirs to choose two, and would forever interpret it as such. The rest of that evening was nothing more then a whispy collection of very pleasurable impressions – he'd essentially been initiated as a true and formally endorsed heir having received the last of his required training by the hands of talented and skillful women. Considered a full initiate, the supplicants leave him more of a man then upon their arrival. The capsule house is one day destroyed in battle having been melted to the inside of the Prince's armor as a ki blast pierced his torso and imploded in the hint of space between his body and breastplate.

Now the former prince stood, alien queen in his arms, waiting for the old woman to appear. She came shuffling up from a low-set curving path. The elder seemed to be as the new King remembered her. They both paused when she came to stand before him. Her eyes scanned them once over and she frowned and then scowled and directed them to follow her. They walked down the curving path and Bulma could feel that they were descending further underground. The air was much cooler when they came to a large round room with a pathway bisecting it leading from their entry point to a set of double carved doors stained in an extraordinarily livid blue. He sat her in the center of one of the benches and moved to the opposite side.

Under the influence of some strange alien alcoholic drink – was it alcohol – she still knew an undressing man when she saw one. Flustered she moved her head to emphasis a hiss of "what are you doing?", but no words came out. She could do little more then just sit there. It hit upon her what a ridiculous thing she'd gone and done; consuming strange alien drinks, vanishing without telling anyone, and now she was nearly blatantly ogling her sham husband on the eve of her sham marriage. He'd already shrugged off his armor, and was now pulling his top off. Like any woman she admired what she saw, that was of course after she promptly shut her gaping mouth.

If Bulma were a country, she'd be a landlocked one, and all the men of the world would be the oceans. It hit her just then, she'd just willingly locked up any and all access to any sort of non-solo sexual relationship for not only the foreseeable future but also one with an indeterminate end date. A voice mumbled in her head, "maybe you should quit making stupid poorly thought out choices…hmmm?" The berating ended with the distinct sound of a raspberry.

The world outside her head snapped into focus all of a sudden, his face was only a few inches from hers. She was confused why the world was snapping from place to place, and then she became confused about why she was supposed to be confused. He'd moved to touch her neck and she flinched. It was like someone turned up the sound and colour saturation in the world, she was suddenly very aware of his hand resting on the side of her neck, it was hot, and she could feel a pulse thumping hypnotically. She shook her head a bit and made eye contact with him, "I'm sorry, I'm having a hard time staying focused. Say that again for me please?" She pleaded focusing on this time on his lips. It made no sense why though, as the words probably wouldn't line up with the translation she was receiving in her ear. She was fascinated to find that they did in fact match. Her mind began to calculate the odds of a match, while calculating variations upon her original query she had a bit of an epiphany. The problem was as soon as the idea had come to fruition, it'd been swept away by new novel inputs, this time from her ears.

He was telling her about the rules now; no technology, no weapons, and nothing that impacts the flow of ki. He was pushing his hands around her neck now; she forgot to react under the warmth and the sensation of his fingers creeping around to the nape of her neck. Her necklace fell into her cleavage and she flinched. He was still clutching one end it and began to slowly pull the necklace out and off her chest. It tickled. She had to reach between them and used her teeth to pull off her left glove before she could cross her arm around her face to pluck the translator out of her ear. The earthling fumbled the small near-invisible chip and it was lost somewhere in the pool of her gown. He roughly rolled down her remaining glove before tossing it and the necklace together onto the bench beside them. She toed her shoes off and kicked them out from underneath her.

He reached to her waist and promptly turned her back to him. She was unsure about this, she forced her brain to remain aware of his actions, instead, it wanted to watch the marbling in the rock above them. She was fixated on the stone room, her brain ran through rock formation, rock types, geology, mineralogy, and every other scrap of information in her brain combing it all to explain why in this dim light she could see the stone sparkling faintly, and why it was that it seemed to be getting brighter in the room? As she sorted through her own explanation she mumbled, talking to herself – a childhood habit.

The Saiyajin was secretly grateful for her preoccupation with the room, and found his work was easier accomplished while she was theorizing to herself absently about how the bioluminescent crystals were gathering and generating electrical energy. She was currently positing life forms, like fireflies, when her brain jumped to another track again - someone was touching her back. She intended to turn her head to see, but instead rolled her head back in intoxication. Bulma caught a glimpse of his face; his lips were pressed together, and immediately she wanted to be facing him – concerned about his proximity. She'd startled him as he was inspecting the persistent red line neatly bisecting the newly regenerated skin and muscle tissue. She'd been covering the scar with make-up and some had rubbed off under the seam of bustier.

She turned to face him and turned her eyes to his face, "what's happening?" she speaks softly, and steadies herself under the influence of the drink. He retracts his hands and faces her with a carefully schooled mask. "On Vejitasei there is a group, they are specially selected and trained women who pass on knowledge, and teachings of our people from King to King. They appraise our heirs, and deem us worthy to ascend and become King. Their interaction with the royal line represents the relationship between the two sexes – complementary and interactive. The drink is a lubricant of sorts, it dulls unpleasant physical sensations like pain, heightens pleasurable sensory inputs, and hides the memories in a shroud of fog. There are going to initiate me in their way. Your invitation was unexpected." The words rolled out with a soft edge to them. He was a bit taken aback by how patient he'd been with the Queen's questions, especially when the topic of such was one that was so intimately weaved into his life now, he was nervous about her participation. It was the drink; it was making him far too lax for his own liking. The blue doors opened and there was nothing more to say.

Time skipped and rushed ahead for Bulma. She was now sitting on a short small stool, legs curled around beside herself. The position was flattering to her injuries, and it required nearly no effort on her part to maintain either. She folded her hands in her dress and became lost in the ever-changing pattern that seemed to be emerging from the glossy silken threads of her gown. 'Ok, Bulma! Are you listening! Next time, no more strange alien drinks!' Her mind is panicking as she feels as if she is intruding. This all feels private, sacred, and something to be revered.

The drink makes her thoughts into a sea, plucking ideas from her grasp and pushing them by with the current too quickly for her to dwell upon. She continues to watch the fabric of her dress bend and move. Bulma is beginning to realize she is hallucinating mildly when the old woman squats down in front of her. The elder grabs her chin, turning her head from side to side examining her face. The young woman is confused when all the older woman seemed to want to do is peer into her eyes, the feeling gives her chills.


	20. Chapter 19

A/N: Alright so the rest of the story is now fully plotted out, and I am hoping that with how I've tweaked things this is nearly the end of the slow part. I ended up chopping this into two pieces, the second portion I'll release as soon as I've hammered down a few plot things as I don't want to have to revise a chapter and send everyone back to read the changes.

For Jade.

Chapter 19

It was awkward being the only one seated in a room that Bulma had come to sense was quickly filling with tension and feelings of intrusion upon whatever this was. The elder had left her, turning her back to both rulers. The silence in the room did nothing to stop Bulma's still drifting mind from finding something else to focus on; to mentally dissect it, discuss, and whatever else genius women do while highly intoxicated in the presence of super-strong aliens.

The floor was a continuous slab of solid stone worn flat naturally it'd seemed by use. It felt a slight bit warm under her stockinged feet. Inside her brilliant mind she was contemplating combining crushed diamonds with the glowing stone from the last room they'd been in. The thought had percolated too long though and the seed of it all had vanished, never to return with an explanation as to why she'd want to combine those two items. All she would remember was the hint of peculiarity to the whole thing, in the short, the thought, the whole thing, just wasn't her style. The thought didn't matter anymore though when Vegeta sat down across from her, legs folded under him, feet and upper body bare. A younger saiyan woman sat a pedestal of lidded jars between them.

The elder woman made a short declaration and came to stand over the pair. She passed down a short wide-mouthed wet earthenware bowl and the King accepted it. Bulma watched the other woman retreat outside of a faint floor pattern that encircled the pair. Her attention was required when Vegeta barked for her to remove the jars from the tray so that the ash box could be exposed. He leaned forwards and growled at her slowly when she didn't immediately comply. The ash box was in fact a thick round matte black clay-like dish only about as deep as a finger length. It sported punched holes throughout the top portion for ventilation. From in the wet bowl Vegeta bumped out one small red coal into the bottom of black dish. Its sharp pink-red colour began to brighten as it remained in contact with the ash box. The colour manifested into one small but growing flame, which reached upwards, well more the double the height of the container.

One large round container sealed round its top with something akin to wax, sporting a simple metal handle spanning its diameter and hooking into two eyelets. There were also three other small covered dishes, both sealed, but neither with a handle.

"What are we doing?" Bulma whispered a little louder then she intended to. He ignored her outright and started working at chipping off the seal off one of the smaller pots with his fingers.

"Well?" She watched him from her perch.

"Disrobe." He spoke.

"Wha? No! Why? But…but…" She takes a breath, pauses, and restarts, "I can be useful, let me help. Tell me what you're doing."

She receives a dark glare in return and nod that indicates she should get on with his earlier command.

Her eyes only met his for a moment before he was gone, returning to stand behind her. His hands were pushing into her shoulder and upper back, pressing quickly and firmly, releasing only once he'd sensed something that was obviously beyond her. He gave a few final taps down the back of her arm then was once again sitting across from her. She reached absently with her bad arm to grasp the other smaller container.

"Oh! Seals off! Ok, that's easy. Hey, wait a minute! You fixed my arm!" Her rage boiled up without warning, "YOU COULD HAVE FIXED ME ALL ALONG?" She raised her voice shrilly, narrowed her eyes, planted her fists on her hips, and leaned forwards, glaring at him. He tensed, preparing to shout back when he witnessed her mind jump tracks again. She snatched the large round container and started unwinding the wire from it, completely forgetting her tirade. It was starting to appear as if their periods of lucidity were falling out of synch, or that the woman wasn't strong enough to tolerate such things as the drink they'd imbibed.

In her hands the handle was remade, upgraded. Now it was a different sort of grip, arranged so that it could be used in a scooping motion to pick up the containers and transport them safely into the tall flame.

She twisted one of the small containers around the flame with her improved handle. The implement was nothing more then a set of tongs shaped to hold all three of the containers on their tops and bottoms. Being as they were all uniform height it was a simple task to design the grip to help transport the containers near the flame. The wax of the first jar dripped into the ash box and caught fire, spreading the flames. Bulma cursed and set the container back down outside the box of flames. She never unloaded the jar, Vegeta had pulled the contraption out of her hands as soon as he'd been sure the jar was on solid ground. He couldn't risk something as important as this initiation, even if he felt unconvinced about its importance to himself personally.

His mind wandered while he melted the wax on the second small dish. The flames grew with the drippings for fuel. He thought about his understanding of his people's uniform religion. Religion on Vejitasei dictated the markers of time the saiyans celebrated as important, told them what must always be passed down from parent to child, and had remained an ever-present, but near silent, skeleton of their society and culture. Having been removed from his planet so young he'd never formed a deep innate comprehension of the role of the belief system his people followed. Logically it made sense for him to cultivate favour with the leaders he'd require support from. There was nothing other then this, coupled with his knowledge of how efficient religious persuasion on Vejitasei was. Under the last two rulers the Priestesses had rarely been seen, recruited for, or discussed. Vegeta had not yet decided on the relationship he would have as king.

They were subtle, rarely political, and always advocated in favour of the people as a whole. Their ascribed goals were to educate the people in the private ways of the saiyajin, their private lives, their intimate lives, and through those lines, the population as a whole. There was no punishment for not following, however the old ways, held much sway as very few tended to sway from the traditional teachings. Vegeta, by virtue of his time under Frieza, had never experienced most of the things he knew about and associated with his home planet's religious teachings. His knew and could explain their history in detail, from before the Truffles. He could recite the rules of issuing a challenge to another male for the past three distinct ruling periods, but had never actually done so himself. Vegeta lacked the practical knowledge of his own people. Instead he was secretly deciding whether or not to play 'catch-up', play nice in other words while he bought himself more time to cement his power.

He pushed the third and largest pot onto the holder., but left it on the ground. "Disrobe!" He repeated his command, his temper rising up under the relaxing pull of the drinks.

"No!" She shot back, indignant, with her eyes fixed right on his. He couldn't understand why she wouldn't yield to him; it was infuriating to reiterate his command to a weak alien woman. A sour mood and disposition had also risen up from his depths when she'd incited his frustration upon refusing his command. The ash box swept his attention away as the interior combusted into a bowl of tiny dancing yellow flames. Vegeta forgot his anger and moved the pot into the flaming dish.

He watched the bright purple wax around the rim of the large pot. "We haven't been truly crowned, this is the last part. The Priestesses must be in agreement for my rule to be unchallenged." He crossed his arms over his chest and kept his eyes fixed on hers in an attempt to intimidate.

"So? That doesn't explain why I'm sitting here with you demanding that I get naked." The earth woman gave him a fierce glare at the end of her commentary.

He sighed and in a bored tone responded in such an offhanded way that Bulma was surprised. "The Priestesses are the keepers of our moral values, they are here to guide our collective judgment and preserve our culture. In short they make sure that each new king passes a collection of tests that marks them worthy to rule. Now hurry up, we have to start as soon as the wax bubbles." Vegeta sounded unconvinced about the value these Priestesses, or that there would be any challenge in passing the related tests.

Bulma was undergoing some obscure thought process when she felt the popping sensation at her lower back. "Hey!" She screeched, leaning away while twisting to avoid whatever was happening with the bottom of her top. Instead it'd only gave Vegeta better access to the skirt's zipper and ties. Bulma felt like a doll when he picked her up easily with one arm around her waist, pulling the skirt off and exposing her underthings. He tossed it away from the pair before planting her back down on the low three-legged bench she sat on. She noted for the first time how precariously balanced her position on it was. Almost as if the stool was only intended to be stable at a particular angle and under a particular weight distribution; both of which corresponded to her.

He stepped around to her front side and removed the lid from one of the two containers. Deciding it wasn't what he wanted he replaced the lid and opened the second one instead. From the next jar he removed two rolled squares of natural fabric, which contained a rock Bulma would equate with pyrite in colour and shine. The second box also contains 4 sticks wrapped in a fabric tie, the ends still green and jagged from the branch they were separated from. At the very bottom, wrapped in soft fabric was a roll of black ribbon.

"They," she can hear a faint sneer in his enunciation. "Want to inspect us. It's the way of ascension." His tone is bored implying that it is only her who is truly being "inspected". Her face lights up with anger and she seizes the first opportunity. "So what! Really, you keep telling me to take off my clothes, and when I ask for an explanation and_ this_ is the best you can do?" Arms akimbo, and good leg crossed over the bad to preserve some modesty, she was fuming. The wax was taking on a shiny appearance in the heat.

"Just tell me why you are suddenly so insistent about this. _I_ don't understand, and _I_ am not going along with this anymore." She started to drift away again, "and no more strange drinks!" Bulma wagged a finger at him. Grounding it out he haltingly explained that she would have to be anointed. All he received in return was a raise eyebrow and a pointed glare.

"Well?" Her voice rose, and he could swear he could see the anger coming off her in waves. The drinks were beginning to garner in his stomach. To Vegeta the first wave of the drink was a sense of pleasant calming, like slipping into hot water to relieve aching muscles. He had a vague concern about decorum and a whisper of apprehension. Out of the corner of his eye it looked like the wax was softening, the glossy sealant was loosing its rigidity.

"You have to be introduced, you're not one of us." He mumbled, having turned away from her to begin laying out the contents of the container. Unfurling the green branches he folded the fabric tie and set it aside. The two rolled squares were folded into smaller pieces, laying them both out. "We have to start exactly when wax releases from the container. "If _you_ don't, _I_ don't ascend, and this was all just a useless show." His was pointed in his accusation. He glanced at the heating pot, the wax was sinking and flattening slowly. His Queen was grimacing at him with pursed lips; her pupils were becoming tiny and fixed. Smartly he seized the coming opportunity as she drifted off again. In a moment he was behind her again, it was different this time; she knew he was there. The heat from his hands was unexpected, but he worked quickly at pulling out the remaining ties from her top. When the two halves came apart the earth woman sucked in her breath, her skin was on fire, hyperaware of everything. The light from the fire seemed to burn her eyes, and she felt unsteady from so much tactile input.

"Wait!" A whispered protest made him pause as he'd started to pull the ends away from her body. The woman reached up into her hair and carefully plucked out pieces of bent metal. Her hair came down in soft curled waves falling around her. Vegeta watched the hair land on his hands and arms, it made his skin twitch. The locks slid away when she nodded for him to continue. The man tossed the top away towards the skirt. The wax was slowly forming small bubbles.

Vegeta ignored Bulma as he turned back to the supplies. He tore one of the squares into smaller pieces. The golden rock was placed on one of the small squares, and she noted that he never handled it directly. She was afraid for him to turn to face her, still perched on the low stool she sat only in a pair of blue lace shorts. The pop, hiss, and clatter of the pot on the fire distracted her from further contemplation. The container was pressurized, the lid had burst through the wax, before clattering back down into its seat. Vegeta pulled it out of the ash box, set it down, removed the lid, then promptly poured a portion of the runny near-clear liquid into the empty container the supplies arrived in. He then placed the large vessel onto the ground again. Vapors rose off the surface in heavy clouds leaving no smell in the warm air. She felt like the drink's effects were intensifying again, her belly was burning on the inside. It reminded her of fire, and so she thought about acetylene torches and welding. The hot hand on her back startled her, it stayed, palm pressing into her flesh, fingers splayed.

Vegeta loathed the idea of having to touch anyone. When he placed his hand on her pale back he could feel the rapid thumps of her heart and the short quickened breaths she drew. He used his other hand to sweep her hair ahead of her shoulders, as starting with her back would be less embarrassing for both of them. The vapors had stopped drifting upwards from the large vessel. Vegeta wrapped one of the pieces of cloth around his fingers before dipping them into the liquid. He placed the oiled scrap at the back of her neck and drew it down her spine, fingertips creeping all the way to her tailbone making her arch involuntarily.

He leaned closer in behind her pressing his front to her oiled back. He pressed his palms to the back of her hands directing her fingertips to the golden stone. Using her as a puppet he picked up the stone with her fingers and pressed it between her palms. His breath was hot on the side of her neck, and then his face was pressed up next to hers, cheek to cheek.

He exhorted the slightest bit of force and the rock, it bit into her soft palms, then crumbled in a brassy metallic shower into the pot of warm oil. Immediately the contents began to froth creating thick heavy waves of white shot through with bright gold streaks. Bulma rocked in her chair, her head was becoming fuzzy again, the patterns in the vessel kept drawing her in. The woman was completely oblivious when the man reached past her again to pick up one of the sticks. When he began to shave the end into a very slender point with nothing but his fingers, her blue eyes could do nothing but follow.

Vegeta heard her gulp when he'd finished peeling the sticks of the akoki tree. He wondered how he'd felt when his child self was in her place. The memory unexpectedly jumped to mind; hazy, and little more then snatches of feelings, sensations and couple of visuals of this very room. His younger self had been afraid. His present self immediately recognized the feeling, and the clenching panic reigned tightly in his belly, flopping, and shuddering to escape. The drink made it hard to enforce his iron rule over his emotions and mind, he couldn't completely successfully tamp down the heavy sensation that'd materialized in his gut.

The sharpened tool was abandoned on the ground for the roll of black ribbon. Cautiously Vegeta stepped around the near naked woman, keeping his eyes on hers he squatted next to her and took up the end. He pulled off a section before tearing it off easily.

"Eat." Ever a man of words he grunted at her.

Hazy and near lost in her own head Bulma automatically stuck her tongue out to receive the edible. It tasted sharp and sweet, but only for a moment before the flavor was gone and it just tasted like a wet ribbon. He passed her another piece, and when she went to complain that the last one hadn't finished, it occurred to her that it was already gone, but that her tongue couldn't seem to forget the sensation of the food on her tongue. Then he moved back behind her, settling far enough away she couldn't sense his body heat.

Taking a deep centering breath he dipped the stick into the dish that now softly bubbled a molten gold colour. With his right hand he palpitates one of the spinous processes of her back just beneath the rise of her neck. In his mind he reaches out to her, something in his repressed mind yells at him that he should think the intrusion of his mind into hers, an _alien_, disgusting. Her mind is soft and easily yielding entry, and he knows it is the thinly pressed black roll of kojgii berry leather that has made it so. Respectfully he remains in what he'd term the vestibule of her mind, nowhere seeking or prying, just an empty venue in which they can communicate.

'Are you there?' He announced himself. She responded flustered, confused, and needed an explanation twice to believe him. His mind could feel the feelings of panic, and vulnerability swimming outside the mental vestibule. His presence was terrifying her. Vegeta groused silently about the utter lack of luck on his side as otherwise he wouldn't be stuck having to rub minds with a loud erratic alien women to obtain what should rightfully be his, his throne.

'I am going to mark you as my taken queen. While I do, you will focus on this.' In her mind he conjured a simple puzzle box he'd played with as a small child. To him it seemed a fitting distraction to focus her mind. If he kept her focused she would not seek out the sensations he was going to be imparting on her back thereby tensing up and triggering the painful nerve agent in the mineral colourant. He moved the tip of his tool to the place that was to be the beginning of his official name, his signature, in a formal lettering. He tapped the flattened base lightly with his free hand, the tip sunk into her skin depositing the golden mixture. He withdrew it, repositioned the tip, and repeated the process until the only the faintest hints of green showed through on the tip. He fed the scrapings of the stick sharpening to the ash box, which greedily rose up to accept the fuel. The fire burned brighter allowing him to work faster and more efficiently.

He was not mentally prepared for this; as he worked he split his consciousness between the actions of his hands, and ensuring her mind was sufficiently occupied. She solved the first puzzle box easily, amused at the intricate locking mechanism and fine craftsmanship. Something new arrived in its place thereafter, a second much larger puzzle box. This one was an intricate assembly of immaculately designed and sculpted stone. At first she just looked at the box, a work of exceptional skill.

Outside of her head she could still interpret the warmness on her back from him. Puzzle box forgotten she suddenly shuddered. The searing pain that burned hot then cold came next. It burrowed into her spine surely eating away her flesh, muscle, and bone.

Mentally he shook the box at her again. She was squirming, making his job harder. It didn't help that the annoying woman had no mental control, she was projecting her pain back to him through the ad hoc link. It offended his sensibilities at first when he had to manifest himself to keep her mind from drifting to his other work with the sticks and her spine.

The box made her belly clench in anticipation. She vowed to solve it slower, to savor it. It was a testament to its salience when she was distracted by the painted scenes on the sides of the new mystery. The harder she focused on the image in her mind the easier it was to leave behind the actions on her back.


	21. Chapter 20

A/N: I uploaded this, then forgot to actually publish this. My bad! Sorry! Nudge me when I forget if you want more.

Chapter 20

It was an hours long process pressing the pigment under her skin. The exhaustion came from entertaining her. Having to work to keep up with someone who maneuvered so quickly and skillfully around puzzles. Each stone was a puzzle, and each puzzle fit into a story; history of the saiyajin people.

They settled into a pattern in her mind; she solved the puzzles, he called up narrated versions of the stories from his childhood.

"You sound like your father." She says. It comes out loud, "look like him too."

He doesn't know what to say, so they remain in silence for some time while he works, and she explores the partially solved puzzle box.

"Did you speak with him?" His voice is even in her mind.

"Yes, we spoke a few times. Your father and I were figuring out a list for me to work on while I was here." Aloud again she responded.

There is another long period of silence. She was leaning forwards now, chest pressed into her knees while he worked further down her spine. More portions of the puzzle box are solved, but these ones he does not narrate, instead he only comments that it is part of the training all children go through. The next puzzle is simple to solve, an equation for the amount of thrust required to move an object of a set weight in climates of varying gravity. She mentally conjures and forces across a memory of her father teaching her about hover cars as a young child, and then the two of them manipulating vehicles to be adaptable to various scenarios.

He was intrigued, if she had those types of abilities at such a young age, that would make her a prodigy, like him. If this was true, what was on 'the list'?

Another puzzle. This one she cannot solve, it is too culturally specific for her to understand. The answer isn't revealed as the puzzle solves itself and allows her to move on. She misses the question and forcibly, if not unintentionally, pushes back against the link. His hot fingertips were pulling at the edge of her underclothes.

"Hooks under bow." She responds to the internal image of her garter belt closure; everything else around it blurred. She feels him undo it and peel the halves around her until they flopped forwards in her lap. The tapping continued.

He fed her another piece of the edible tape. She'd solved each of the little puzzles contained in each of the small stones on one side. It'd stopped and she'd breathed a sigh of relief, it was over.

"No, not yet. Solve the box." His tone echoed in his head. Her hair was being pushed over one shoulder, and the tapping started again. Some more time had passed, the tape had made her woozier. She could only force herself to focus on the box for so long before having to surface and regain a connection to her body once more. She had to make a solid connection to stop herself from feeling ill. There was a lightheadedness that overshadowed everything when she looked around herself; the light from the fire wasn't placed for her use. Sometimes the sensations of sickness would cross the barrier and manifest in her mind as well.

When he finished he reached for the ribbon that bound the sticks. He creates a noose around his wrist, then ties the other hand around hers so they're bound. She doesn't remember much after that.

When she awoke she was lying prone, with her head cushioned on a soft pillow. They were still tethered, her fingertips resting on his. He however was facing upwards staring blankly into the dark ceiling while a woman hunched over his shoulder.

The puzzle box rattled in her mind, he was immediately aware of her. The magnetism it exuded before was lost on her. There was panic at the unknown, and so he manifested again, this time it was just a quiet contact in the dark, an idea pushed across the mental bridge - just lay there, and focus elsewhere.

The pain is too much to focus around, or to overcome. It burns, it makes her want to whither and squirm. She didn't agree to this. This wasn't part of their deal. An overwhelming sense of distress is becoming a growing cacophony in her head. She is forcing him out; the room where they are interacting is shrinking, compressing, and then slowly crushing its contents.

In her head he is capitulated from his feet. The ceiling creeps lower, and the walls closer. He sits on the ground and begins to calmly focus his thoughts, projecting over her panic. The idea appeals to him as much as rape; it disgusts him, and makes him lower himself unbecomingly. He makes it quick, a sharp reach forward and he has grasped her consciousness in his own mind and blocked the pathways that consciously process pain. He forced her to manifest herself mentally then pushed her down into the identical scene their physical bodies where in.

"Enough whining you weakling!" He roared from his place on his back in the mental world. It was just the two of them here, lying down. He faced upwards and her down. "Focus on something other then them." He sneered into the dim light.

"How?" She said after a long pause. Her physical body was beginning to sweat under the pain she was feeling. The pain was mounting in intensity, blooming in her brain and behind her eyes. Her breathing was hitching, coming faster and shallower. Panic was the beginning of the end if it could sink its slimy fingers into the alien woman.

He cleared his throat quietly before beginning, "The two sons of the Cold Empire are at war with each other and the head of the Cold Family, King Cold, is turning a blind eye to the situation. The younger brother, Freiza, his army has entered your planet's galaxy. Their conflict is a civil war, each side vying to conquer the other by any means. Right now Freiza's men are trying to secretly convince your government to side with them over us. They want your technology." She decided then that she liked his voice; it had a soothing quality to it that came from the timber.

"They will take away a select few from the planet, the rest is will be purged, the planet sold, the survivors enslaved." The admission made her grit her teeth.

"We get he is the bad one. We do…or at least we did. Why else do you think we'd align ourselves with you?"

They were quiet for some time afterwards. The mental strong-arming faded and reality returned. One of the women was tapping Bulma's cheekbone until she opened her eyes. They're all watching her carefully, inspecting her with sweeping eyes, speaking over and around her in the Saiyajin language. They had flipped her over, and one woman sits between the Queen and King, blocking her exposed chest from him.. One pressed her fingers into the horseshoe of her ribs and down her midline to her belly button; a finger tapped the two micro gems embedded there. They discussed her again, hissing whispers and sharp clicks of their tongues. They're tapping at her hipbones, seeing how many fingers fit between the ridges. Bulma turned her eyes to the only man in the room. He was watching the ceiling, ignoring everyone else it seemed.

The eldest woman of the set approached him and then all Bulma could see was him transferring something from his hand to his mouth. She watched him swallow, and slide his eyes closed. The woman then spoke to him, but her ears weren't good enough to make it out.

"Woman." A pause. "They wish to know if it is true that earthling hair re-grows." He sounds as if he is drifting off, his voice quieting at the end. There is something in his voice that she hears as i

A gulp, "yes. Why?" He never answers, his eyes are shut and his hand has relaxed under hers, their fingertips no longer in contact.

The older woman was in Bulma's vision. She tapped the earth woman's cheek again with her fingers so they made eye contact. A nod is exchanged amongst the saiyajin women, and one takes a seat near the Queen's head. She is the youngest of the set it appears, and she smells close to apples and cinnamon simmering on the stove. Bulma watches her upside down, the woman is beautiful she decides; her skin flawless, the dim light pulling out the gold tones in her olive skin.

She jerks upwards when there are hands on her hips, folding down the lace underwear, and it is making her nervous. The woman at her head is pulling her backwards until she is watching the ceiling, When the band is rolled down a second time she tries to sit up again, decidedly uncomfortable. Her fingers brush his as she tries to use her hand to help her sit up. Their palms come into contact and she squeezes his hand in her attempts.

The woman at her head is chattering at her. Bulma can't comprehend it, so she twists in her spot, to try and understand by peering at the priestess right side up. They played intergalactic trans-cultural charades for a time before the general message was conveyed; more makings for cleansing. She laid down, tensing only when she felt someone's warm fingertips drawing lines over her pelvis. The hand presses down slightly and the heat radiates in, relaxing Bulma. The calmness in the air was destroyed with the earthling's yelp of surprise – they were shaving her! She took a deep breath, and another, then one more still. A second set of warm hands were touching her face, the first woman at her head is looking for Bulma's attention.

The priestess leans forwards into the crook of the Queen's neck, "this is our most sacred of marks, it is not to be shared with those outside this ceremony. It instills fertility, virility in male offspring, and is part of the initiation rights of women." Her whisper is breathy and it heats the shell of the earth woman's ear. Bulma nods and lets the tension out of her frame.

Her mind drifted in the clouds of all the food and drink she'd ingested. She just couldn't process anymore of this whatever this was. It was just easier for her to lay down, relax and let this ceremony finish itself. The more she tensed up the more her body burned. The repetitive tapping faded into the background of her mind as she slid into a semi consciousness eyelids aflutter.

Bulma felt his fingertips twitch into hers, they felt nearly too hot on her skin. It was bringing her back into her consciousness, and back into the rhythmic sound of tapping, the sensation of pain and displaced skin had vanished, it was just sound now. Her arm was being moved, and then something was touching her skin, too firmly entrenched in the grasp of semi-consciousness to want to understand it.

More tapping on her cheek came later. The ash box was now bright with flames, and it was the first thing that came into focus for her. Dragging her blue eyes to the weathered face of the eldest Priestess was a difficult task. The woman was standing the dazed earthling to her feet, then pulling her, naked-chested to stand. The Priestess dips her fingers into a small bowl and with quick hearty taps deposits the contents onto the foreigner's body at all the major intersects of the ki pathways. The viscous liquid slides downwards with gravity. Once it finishes its journey, each path is covered with a piece of ribbon, the same that she'd consumed earlier it'd seemed.

_Drink, Sleep, Eat, Bathe. _

Bulma nodded at the soft voice in her head. Then remained standing as the two attendants began to wrap her with what felt like a long black scarf. They bound her chest comfortably, all Bulma could think of doing was crawling into a warm bed and sleeping for days. Exhaustion was overwhelming her senses, it was making her body heavy and cumbersome. She couldn't remember Vegeta joining them but he was suddenly standing in her peripheral vision.

The Eldest Priestess took Bulma's left arm and his right before clasping them together. She sobered when she felt the slight shudder roll through his fingers. They were using more ribbon to wrap their forearms and hands in a clasp. Her eyelids were succumbing to the gravity, the release into sleep felt wonderful and freeing.


	22. Chapter 21

A/N: I'm struggling badly with this, its all plotted out now, but I can't seem to regain my interest or make the words flow. I'm sorry! I keep trying to work on this, but its like my mind is set on other things. I have so many new ideas, but not enough time to write them out, and even less interest in finishing them unfortunately. Feedback?

Anyways this chapter does reflect the Mature rating so heed it.

Chapter 21

She woke up in hazy warmth, blissful and content. The heat kept her relaxed enough to slip back into sleep. Her dreams were filled of a field, a forest, and a hill. In the forest the trees were proudly displaying foliage in brilliant oranges, bright yellows, and sharp reds, with a few patches of rich greens. Some trees held blooms, pinks, whites, reds, and down around her feet where soft green mosses that compressed under her heels.

Bulma wandered aimlessly through the forest, smelling flowers, catching the bright falling leaves. She walked under the draped canopy of a willow, parting the sheet of leaves she stepped through. The forest on the other side was full of squat gnarled branches, which typically seemed to spit into three or four thick branches lower in the tree. In the crooks of the trees warm shelters are woven in and around the tree limbs. The exteriors are plain, simple enough to blend into the surroundings. Inside looks to be a simple dwelling, and instantly she is compelled to crawl inside to see more.

As she crosses the threshold she realizes that she never entered the room she saw from the ground. Instead she is in the open vestibule of her mind, alone, but within the company of the half solved puzzle box. There is no sense of time passing, just a peripheral impression of being stuck. With nothing to do she begins to pick at the box, touching it, or staring deeply into its design. When Bulma next stood up she realized she was no longer the sole occupant of the area.

The reticent Princeling-turned King was standing partially in the shadows of her dream world. Briefly she thought about it; she was in her mind's mind, it made he want to shake her head to clear it and start over again. He scowled at her and motioned his chin to the side, reflexively she sidestepped and the scowl seemed less harsh. He stalked to the puzzle and set to solving it.

The box is fell flat, then the slab was peeled in half, and then unfolded. Eventually it was unfurled to be a long waving piece of opaque fabric that reminded Bulma of the softest silk she'd once possessed. The length of material had managed to knit itself together into a long banner, which vanished off into the darkness, held high and taut without explanation.

Bulma examined the end that ran from the center of the lit room, following it out of the room, back through the doorway, into the sunlight, and out of the forest. It streamed on out of the forest and back to the field, and the hill. Somehow he was there before her, standing proudly at the top of the hill while she stood at the bottom squinting at him in the bright sunlight. She begins to walk upwards, but the journey seems to take ages, the sun sets and she it still following the banner, seemingly no closer to the top of the hill. When the sun touches the horizon Bulma steps atop the hill. Compelled to take a break she sits on a stone and rubs her eyes.

Bulma blinks and realizes she is back in her own body, out of her mind, and her mind's mind. Their hands had come apart; the ribbon was gone. A mat has been unrolled and the small stool the Queen sat on earlier was there. Her joints popped and creaked loudly, once she was seated and the King had done the same, averting his eyes from Bulma. The eldest priestess came to sit before them, bowed to them before speaking.

"We grant Queen-ship, but withhold our endorsement for King-ship. You are too unknown to us – too locked away for us to judge. Prince Vegeta will rule in name as King, Bulma will rule with the power of a Primary Mistress as Queen." The priestess sat up straight to deliver her declaration then began again after a reverent pause. "One last task and you," she nodded to Bulma, "will be honored as a saiyan, but only through Prince Vegeta's endorsement." Another pause. Bulma stretches a stiff leg and another pop-click resonates in the empty space. "You will fix _that_!" The older woman huffed then held out her palms for their hands again.

A second priestess rushed over with a tall thin vessel. Efficiently the eldest presses Vegeta's palm over the top and uprights the container briefly and commands "Eat." When the container is removed his palm has a circular wet mark of red; without question he licks his hand to remove the substance. He turns, leans forwards and lightly cups the earthling's chin pausing to steel himself he leans in and presses his lips to hers, then advantageously darts his tongue through to share and deposit the thick red juice in her mouth. They both blush, but neither move away, the jelly bringing the drink's effects back in waves, carrying with it an effervescent feeling of giddiness in Bulma, and an unprecedented sense of ease and relaxation in Vegeta. Bulma was pulled to her feet and dressed again in her gown. Boots and pants were supplied for the Prince to dress himself in.

The eldest priestess stepped forward and put a hand on each of their shoulders; "your instructions are _Drink, Sleep, Eat, Bathe_. You are bound in each other's presence until you receive our mark." The pair was escorted out the cave, and back up into the pathway. When the pair had left, the Eldest turned to her cohorts and the three shared a private chuckle.

Bulma smiled and waltzed down the hallway jumping and spinning in her heavy gown. "Do you know how wonderful this feels?" She was now walking backwards in front of him, looking into her eyes and smiling just for him. The way her hair glimmered with each step under the subdued lighting was distracting. Distracting in the very same way her breasts literally bounced with her begging him to watch and admire. He knew this was unquestionably not the time to let his guard down. He made a game out of it, a game of repeating his required tasks, and ignoring everything he was receiving from his senses about her, deeming them contaminated by the drink. _Drink, Sleep, Eat, Bathe. Drink, Sleep, Eat, Bathe. Drink, Sleep, Eat, Bathe._

He heard her giggle and laugh, and felt her arm wrap around his as she came to walk at his pace. "Will you do it again? Please?" She added while tapping her restored fingers on his arm in anticipation of his answer. "You have medicine for that" he ground out. _Drink, Sleep, Eat, Bathe. _"It's not like this though." She frowned and the tapping slowed. "You don't understand the difference. I can feel the tips of my fingers again! And that weird walking through resistance sensation is gone. I can touch my skin and not either cry out in pain, or be unsure if I'm feeling anything at all. Please?" She pestered him with questions and requests for the entire walk back up through the long hall.

They arrived at the same set of doors he'd once escorted her through to conduct their re-negotiations. This time they moved into a new part of the room, it was large and open with a single obstruction; a large stone fireplace which jutted up first as a sphere near the ground, then pinched into a flowing tube that grew in diameter as it approached the ceiling. There was a wide decorated metal sheath, which slides around the circumference of the fireplace, which exposed ports to allow more or less heat to escape from the circular pit. The central pillar effectively hid from view a large very earthly looking wooden bed dressed in a very human tradition, sheets, blankets, and pillows.

He sat on a long backed chair in the corner of the room. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes preparing for a catnap rubbing his hands over his face as he did. He heard the woman rustling nearby, getting out of her gown he assumed. "Would you like to see what you missed earlier? And I think you deserve it after showing such self control." He felt her crawl onto his lap when she spoke. She was now sitting on his lap with her legs on either side of his, her weight resting as close to his knees as possible. The Prince opened his eyes and blinked thrice, to ensure he wasn't dreaming. She was still wearing those blue lace shorts; he recognized the pattern from when he'd helped her undress earlier.

"So…would you?" She wiggled her hips a bit to move his attention more northward. He seemed to be fascinated with her panties again. His eyes snapped up to hers then down to her chest. She held one in each hand and looked down at him as he processed her appearance and offer. His face was more relaxed now, and she had his full attention. She glanced at his crotch, she was pretty sure he'd been half hard for the entire ceremony. Couldn't blame him for it either, besides there had been a distinctly erotic subtext happening between the two of them from the moment it started. She was sure he wouldn't turn her down, not with the erection she was watching grow, and it was even more assuredly so as she had yet to drop her arms.

He remained as he was, transfixed, self-control kept him immobile, but his unperturbed internal state of being was overwhelming his instinct to maintain his pride and regal stature. The hormones in his body surged and he relaxed further, opening his thighs and sending the earth woman tipping forwards until her round breasts and cupping hands were crushed against his bare one. No more incentive was needed when Bulma shocked him by picking up her seduction once more, whispering suggestive ideas while rolling her hips against his crotch, letting her knees sink open to support herself they were pressed torso to torso from pelvis to chest.

Weight on her knees she leaned on her legs to give her space, removing her arms to impetuously expose herself to him. She let him lazily observe her before pulling one of her hands on his shoulder for support. Bulma was transfixed on the dark rich red mark on his pectoral, the sign of the Empire. His hands were hot on her breasts, warm enough to bring out a blush that warmed her through and through. She smirked at him, and there was an unspoken agreement in the air that declared the drink and jelly had overtaken all control, subverting it with erotic, lascivious aims, allowing the tension to break between them.

The room heated quickly, Bulma rocking her hips into his lap, the pace moving quickly enough to force Vegeta to cup her backside and drag a thumb down, pulling the lace knickers lower. Unexpectedly standing he dragged down his pants and toed off his boots then casually continued sliding his thumb down her skin, hinting at her to lower her legs, and shrug off the garment. He sat back and relented the impression of control to her while she remained on top. The rest of the exchange was nothing more then breathy pants, her hands on his shoulders for better leverage, thighs flexing, breasts bouncing, and warm sheen on her skin from the firelight reflecting off her oiled skin and the gold flecks in her elaborate tattoo. Vegeta succumbed to it all, the warm curvaceous body bobbing in his lap; the brush of her hard nipples against him sent him escalating to a grand finish. Unable to trust her to continue he sat up and pressed a hand around behind her hips, and one between her breasts forcing the pace the curb to his demands, and compelling them both to end in a heady bliss.

In the wake Vegeta watched her, she was focused on her fingers making lazy trails over the scars of his chest. "Thank you." She smiled at him again. There was no denying the sex appeal of her now, big blue eyes framed with tousled blue hair of the softest texture. Then there were her lips, and within them that tongue, which Vegeta had decided he'd enjoyed very much after experiencing.

The whole package was made to ensnare him and change his views on alien women; it had to be divine will. Never in his life had he ever been so lucky as to have a woman please him because the act of such pleased her. There was something definitively more wholesome about the experience, regardless of if the act itself had been wholesome or not, when it came from someone with honest desires then from a paid companion, or supplicants.

They gulped cool water out of a vessel before moving to the white-sheeted bed.

He withdrew set her on top of the puffy duvet, so exhausted she could barely keep her eyelids from sealing and then the events of the past caught up dropping her off to sleep. Bulma woke under crisp white sheets that smelt like the laundry detergent her mother used at home. She'd dug under the blankets, covering her head with the sheet. The room was dark, but slivers of light peaked through shrouded windowpanes.

The next morning as Bulma dragged her dress off the floor she remembered where she'd thought of the idea of one last adventure. It'd been here, right here on this floor as she undressed. She'd felt like herself again, a sexy self, after he'd worked his magic on her. Feeling sexy led to feeling horny and that lead her to sitting on his lap making sultry promises of the future. Ultimately though it all had to come from Bulma, she'd been the one to re-label her time on Vejita-sei as an exotic last chance adventure. After this she was probably going to go home, settle down and have kids. She remembered looking at Vegeta on the couch, and remembering as he was laying on floor with her, all before deciding that if she was going on another adventure, then she'd better ride all the attractions while the opportunities were available. She smiled as she slid back into bed with its fresh sheets – it was an attraction she'd like to visit again.


End file.
